


life tastes sweeter when it's wrapped in debauchery

by gaily-daily (passionateartist)



Series: debauchery [1]
Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, M/M, Past Character Death, although its VERY light, fiddlestan snuck its way in here, i apologize if thats not your cup of tea, i started shipping it a week ago and IDK, no not you ford, someone please save morty from him, stancest also snuck in here, this is what happens when i write at 3 am, you have finals to study for, young!rick is a terrible roommate and a troublemaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6385729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passionateartist/pseuds/gaily-daily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>C-622 Morty runs through the wrong portal, and because the universe loves dramatic irony, he ends up in a college dorm room where Rick and Stanford are roommates. Unfortunately (or fortunately??) Rick takes a liking to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was inspired by a post from irlrickandmorty100years on tumblr and somehow turned into this giant thing. so thanks to them for this idea! 
> 
> also, there may be some (a lot) of inaccuracies since this is set somewhere in the 50s/60s and I don't know much about that time period, but this is an AU after all so I figured it was fine

“Hurry up Morty!”

It’s hard to see where he’s going in the cave. It’s dark and the ground is uneven. Morty doesn’t know how an 80 year old man is able to run faster than a 17 year old, but perhaps it just solidified how pathetic he truly was. He should really try to do something about that. Maybe try out for track. 

“R-Rick! Slow down!”

The monster roars behind them and Morty feels his heart stop. It sounded closer this time. It was just their luck that the beast could track their smell through dimensions and followed them every time they escaped into a new portal.

Rick whips out his portal gun and opens up several portals in front of them. “Come on! We’ll lose it in here!”

Maybe it was because Morty couldn’t run up a flight of stairs without wheezing. Maybe it was because he didn’t eat enough and had weak legs. Or maybe it was because he watched too much anime, because the next thing he knows he’s tripping over a rock like a clumsy female protagonist and hitting the ground. His face smacks against the rock floor with a loud thump and he cries out. Morty grabs at the explosion of pain in his nose, cradling the tender flesh. He scrambles up to his feet, but Rick is already gone. And he has no idea which portal he took. 

Shit.

Morty looks at the array of choices in front of him. Which one had Rick taken? Fuck he was in so much trouble!

Behind him, the monster growls viciously and Morty stiffens in fear. He’d have to choose and hope against hope it was the right one. 

Closing his eyes and bracing himself, Morty jumps into the closest portal—

—and into a small bedroom. 

There’s a figure in the corner looking flabbergasted at him, but Morty has no time to wait. 

“S-sorry!” He gasps out. 

He quickly turns to go back and hopefully try another portal, but it closes up before he can. He’s trapped.

“No, no, no!” He grabs at his hair and pulls the ends. Fuck! Dammit, why couldn’t Rick just slow down and wait for him for two seconds? Now he had no idea where he was!

“Fascinating!” 

The voice pulls Morty’s attention away from his panic. The man from before sits at a computer desk along one side of the wall. His eyes are wide behind his glasses, full of questions and wonder.

“U-um...” Great, what the hell was he going to do now? “I, uh, I didn’t mean to disturb you but uh—“

“Well, he _llo_ there.” A second voice joins them. 

Startled, Morty’s head swivels over at the opposite side of the room. He freezes. 

Rick is unmistakable as he lounges lazily in his unkempt bed. He’s in a plain white tank and boxers. A bag of Cheetos is opened beside him, smearing orange crumbs all over the sheets.

Morty’s hands automatically wrap around his middle and he tries to look small and unappealing. He doesn’t know what this Rick’s timeline is capable of and frankly one Rick is enough for him. He doesn’t like to think about what happened 3 years ago. When a strange scarred Rick and eyepatch Morty entered his home and killed his grandfather while they were eating breakfast. He doesn’t like to remember the wall of tortured Mortys, or the grief he suffered from losing his Rick. He’d been assigned to his new Rick for almost two years and their relationship is still rocky at best. But meeting other Ricks out here in the unknown? He knows better than to blindly trust any Rick he sees. He’s paid the price before.

The young Rick doesn’t approach him so much as he slinks over to him. His grin is lopsided and full of teeth. Morty backs up against the door. Rick hooks an arm over his head and traps him there. 

“And just who might you be?” Rick’s voice is low and tempting.

“Oh god, really, Rick?” The other man asks from his desk. “A person literally falls from a portal into our room and all you can think about is how cute they are?”

Rick shrugs. “Hey it’s not my fault this kid’s got an ass on him.”

Rick moves a hand to cop a feel for good measure and Morty jumps.

“It’s alright, I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” Rick’s hand pulls back to settle on Morty’s belt loops. Fingers absentmindedly stroke Morty’s hips through the cloth and he swallows.

“Jesus, Rick leave the kid alone would you? You’re traumatizing him!”

Rick rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t move away.

The other man smiles reassuringly at him. “Sorry about him, I’m Stanford. That idiot is Rick.”

There’s a pause and Morty realizes he’s supposed to give his name in return. “M-morty.” 

The fingers stray from the belt loops to play at the ends of Morty’s shirt. 

“I’m, um, I’m sorry to drop in on you like this, but I sort of got lost.”

“No! Not at all!” Stanford’s smile is bright as he leans forward. “This is actually perfect! I’ve been looking into studying portals and other dimensions!” There’s a hunger for knowledge in his eye that has Stanford speaking more animatedly. “You must tell me everything!”

Morty presses hard against the wood of the door.

“I—I can’t, I don’t’ actually know much about portals or science.” He desperately wishes another portal would open up and swallow him. Between Stanford’s piercing gaze and Rick’s wandering fingers he really, really doesn’t want to be here. “I t-travel with someone else. They’re the one that knows how everything works. We were running from a monster and got separated and I sort of ended up here.”

Stanford looks sad for a moment but then it’s quickly washed away. “That’s alright. In the meantime you can stay here until they come back! Then maybe when they come get you and I can ask them for pointers! I’ve been working on a portal of my own!”

“Y-yeah, maybe.” Morty didn’t have the heart to tell him that Rick didn’t like sharing his secrets. He’d probably laugh in the guy’s face and tell him to go eat a fart.

Morty searches for the doorknob behind him. 

“S-so, uh, thanks for the offer but I think I’ll just wait outside. He could be back to get me at any moment.” He twists the knob and opens the door.

Rick protests and tries to grab him but several things happen at once. One, the door is roughly shoved open, hitting Morty and making him fall. Second, a huge, angry fellow steps through. His eyes lock on Rick’s with a deadly vengeance.

“Rick.” The guy says.

Rick’s stance has gone rigid and he tilts his head up at the newcomer.

“Hey Vince, how ya been?” His voice is relaxed but his shoulders are tense.

“You fucked my girlfriend!” Vince grabs the front of Rick’s shirt and pulls him up. 

“Here we go again.” Stanford mutters from his chair. He turns around, not even bothering to try and break up the fight.

Rick shrugs. “Eh, I’ve had better. Honestly I don’t know what you see in her. She was shabby at best.”

_“You shut your fucking mouth!”_

Morty winces at the crack of knuckles across Rick’s face. He hits the floor like a sack of potatoes. Rick wipes his mouth and grins up at Vince. He was much smaller than the other man. Vince looked a football player. He’d probably even gotten a scholarship. Morty can’t help but feel cornered. This may not be his Rick, but he was a Rick all the same, and after years of looking after his grandfather it came natural to him to help Rick when he needed it.

Vince takes a step forward, he doesn’t even notice Morty in the corner. And that’s when Morty’s leg shoots out and to trip him. Vince falls to the floor beside a shocked Rick. Without missing a beat, Morty cries out, grabbing a nearby textbook, and slamming it down onto the guy’s head. It connects with a crack and a yelp and Vince is out like a light.

Rick stares at Morty. Morty stares back. Stanford is speechless in the background.

The room fills with Rick’s laughter. He clutches his sides as his nose bleeds freely.

“Shit kid! You’re not half bad!” 

Morty is horrified. “O-oh god! Oh god! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

What the hell was that?? It wasn’t his fight so why did he have to intervene like that? 

But Rick is already rolling Vince out the door and into the hallway. He searches the guy’s pockets for good measure, finding a couple of bills, and then turns to shut the door and lock it. 

“Guess I’ll have to start using the window to get in again.” Rick grins over at Stanford who glares at him. 

“You are the worst roommate in the entire history of the universe. It’s a miracle I get any work done.”

“That turtleneck is miracle. The hell do you get your fashion tips from?”

Rick falls back onto his bed, the bag of Cheetos is shoved to the side and Rick wipes his bloodied nose on his shirt. 

“You’re disgusting.” Stanford hisses.

Meanwhile Morty is still internally freaking out. He’s no idea what came over him and is terrified it’ll happen again. He’d promised himself to never openly trust a Rick again and yet here he is, ready to jump to his defense. Morty’s stiff and uncomfortable. Aw geez, he really just wants to go home.

Rick winces from the bed and Morty feels a pang of worry break through his thoughts. He’d taken a pretty hard hit earlier. Morty looks around the room and spots a first aid kit lying underneath a pile of clothes. He digs it out.

“H-here.” Morty climbs up on the bed beside Rick. 

Getting banged up was part of the experience of going on outer space adventures with Rick. Morty was pretty skilled with basic first aid now. It was pretty much the only thing he was good for. He opens the kit and fishes out an alcoholic swap and gently wipes around the area of Rick’s nose. It looked pretty bad. He should probably get that checked out by a doctor.

Rick doesn’t say anything, he just stares oddly at Morty. Morty is unsure what to say. It was unnerving. Wanting to escape Rick’s gaze, Morty takes this time to truly look around the room. He wasn’t able to before with all the ruckus. 

The room itself is typical for a college dorm room. Just big enough for two beds on either side and a small kitchenette near the door. Rick’s side is cluttered with blueprints and half-finished prototypes. They’re scattered over his night stand, under the bed, and on the shelves on the wall. Stanford’s side consists of the exact same thing, except it’s more of an organized chaos. Whereas it looked like Rick just threw his inventions down anywhere he felt like, Ford’s had divided his into Finished, Almost Finished, and In-Development piles. 

“Y-you should probably go in for a check-up after this.” Morty says quietly, trying not to look Rick in the eyes. 

Something shifts. Morty is startled when Rick lifts one of his hands and covers Morty’s outstretched one with his. He presses a cheek into Morty’s palm and smiles disarmingly at him. Morty squeaks. 

“Ah, shit,” he says softly, “I think I wanna keep you.”

Morty blushes and tries to pull his hand back but Rick just holds on tighter.

Stanford scoffs. Still refusing to move from his laptop. “Don’t waste your time, Morty. He’ll no doubt get into another fight soon enough and break something else.”

Rick lifts his eyebrow at his roommate and Morty suddenly notices the goatee Rick was spotting. It was...making him feel odd. He can’t stop staring at it.

“Jealous you don’t have anyone to patch you up?” He sneers. “If you got out and socialized once in a while you might not have to be a virgin the rest of your life.”

“So I can drink and smoke my brain away until I’m lying in a puddle of my own vomit and piss? No thank you.”

Rick still hasn’t let go of his hand. “H-he has a point though. Y-you should really be more careful, Rick.”

Rick turns to look at him then and Morty feels his bones freeze. 

“Worried about me sweetheart?” He winks. “Don’t be, I’ll be fine.”

He leans in closer and Morty shrinks under his gaze. “So what say you and I go to a party later tonight?”

“Rick the boy is clearly underage. Don’t you even think about—“

“God, you are _such_ a nerd.”

Rick brings their hands down and cups Morty’s hand in both of his, rubbing the digits and stroking the skin.

“Don’t listen to him, it’ll be fun.”

Morty tries to swallow down the blush at Rick’s close proximity. It was getting weirder by the minute. He’d seen Rick turn on the charm plenty of times with aliens and humans alike, but getting a full front of it was making him incredibly confused.

“I d-don’t think that’s a good idea.” Rick looks saddened for a moment. “I have to wait for, u-um, I have to wait for the other person I was traveling with.”

“Okay fine, but if they’re not here by the weekend you’re coming with me to the keger.”

“S-sure.” Morty’s positive he’ll be gone by then so what’s the harm in agreeing?

A knock on the door interrupts them. Morty feels his panic return. Was it Vince? Had he woken up? Oh geez, why did he have to get involved in that fight? 

Stanford gets up and walks over to the door. He peers through the hole. But apparently, whatever he sees, it’s not Vince because Stanford is suddenly opening the door wide with a grin on his face.

“Fiddleford!”

“Ford.” Fiddleford nods politely as he smiles back.

The small man looks nervously behind him at Vince’s body lying on the floor outside the room.

“Uh, should we be concerned about him?”

“No, no. He’s fine.” Stanford waves his hand and ushers Fiddleford into the room. “But listen something exciting has happened!”

Stanford gestures to Morty who stiffens at being put on the spot.

“So, introductions first! Morty, I’d like you to meet Fiddleford! He was my roommate last year! Outstanding guy! Very smart!” 

Fiddleford blushes nervously as Ford pats him on the back. 

“P-pleased to meet you!” Fiddleford holds a shaking hand out to Morty. Morty takes it, shaking just as much.

“Pleased to meet you too.”

Rick rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t bother with this lot, Morty.” Rick drones. “Can’t tie his own shoelaces without tripping over his own feet.”

Stanford glares at Rick. 

“ _Anyway_ , Fiddleford this is Morty. He’s an inter-dimensional traveler!”

Fiddleford’s eyes widen. “For real? But—but we haven’t even proven that it’s even possible! It’s all just theory!”

“Not anymore! This boy is living proof! I saw him fall from a portal with my own eyes not 5 minutes ago.”

Fiddleford looks back at Morty, eyes shining with the same wonder that Ford’s contained when Morty had first fallen into the dorm room. 

“We’re actually on our way down to the lab to work on our thesis for dimensional travel.” Stanford tells Morty. “Would you like to join us?”

Morty switches his gaze between the two. He swallows nervously. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ve already told you I don’t really know much about the science behind it. I only know about which dimensions to avoid and which ones are mildly safe. I’ll probably just end up getting your way.”

But instead of deterring them, this only seems to strengthen their resolve. Stanford perks up at Morty’s mention of dangerous dimensions. 

“Nonsense! Your knowledge could help us better prepare for what’s out there! About what to take and what not to take! How to communicate with any creatures or beings we cross!”

“I really don’t think I should...”

But Stanford is already animatedly talking about all the possibilities. All the findings and research that was out there. 

As Stanford and Fiddleford converse with one another, Rick tugs on Morty’s hands, vying for his attention. He was growing bored of all the nerd talk.

“You wanna go get some lunch?” There’s an undertone in his voice that sounds very much like Rick was wanting more than just lunch. 

“I, uh—“

“Well, I guess I’ll see you later, Morty!” Stanford interrupts. “If you change your mind let us know!”

Ford puts an arm around Fiddleford and steers him towards the door. Morty looks back at Rick. Then back at Stanford leaving.

Being alone with Rick. Or being bombarded with questions about science. 

“W-wait!” He scrambles off the bed much to everyone’s surprise. “I, uh, I’ll c-come!”

Stanford breaks into a wide grin. “Good on you! You’re going to love it!”

He welcomes Morty onto his team. But they before they can even walk out the door—

“I’ll come too.”

Morty looks back at Rick. He grins lazily at Stanford’s frown and stretches his arms over his head. He rolls off the bed and slides up next to Morty. 

“Figure you idiots could use a few pointers from an actual genius than stumble along with your ‘research.’” 

Stanford practically growls. “We don’t need your help, Sanchez.”

Rick’s grin turns wolfish. “What? Afraid that I’m smarter than you?” He looks over at Fiddleford and winks. “Afraid I’ll show you up in front of your boyfriend?”

Fiddleford stiffens and Ford actually does growl this time. 

“Oh, hit a nerve there did I? Come on, the entire science department knows you two shacked up last year. It’s not like it’s a secret.”

“That’s enough!” Stanford looks like he’s ready to punch him. It’s a look Morty knows well. It’s one he’s seen a million times on a million different people from all across the galaxy. Rick knew how to push someone’s buttons until they lost it. 

“Stop!” Morty throws his hands up between the two. Morty was the shortest one in the room, and he can feel everyone’s eyes bearing down on him. He sweats.

“C-can’t we all just go to the lab together? I mean, I’m sure your work would go faster if Rick was helping?”

Stanford sighs. “Look Morty, I know you’re just trying to help, but you don’t know Rick. He’s just going to stand there and make inappropriate comments that have nothing to do with—“

“God, how can anyone stand to hear to talk?” Rick turns away from the three and heads back to his bed. He bends down to pick up a dirty shirt from the floor and pulls it over his tank top. He then reaches for his pants and pulls them on as well. “Look, I swear I’ll actually help this time. No comments about how much dumber you are from me.”

Stanford looks like he’s going to say no but Fiddleford nudges him. “We really could use his help with some of the kinks in the equations.”

Ford sighs. “Fine. But one word and he’s out!”

Rick crosses his heart and holds up his hand. “Scouts honor!”

Stanford ignores him and pulls Fiddleford out the door. Morty follows close behind with Rick taking up the rear. And if Rick cops a feel once or twice, he doesn’t acknowledges it.

-

Two days later it becomes apparent that Morty will be needing some clothes. His only outfit is scuffed up and dirty and is in desperate need of a wash. Rick enthusiastically lends him some of his clothes (though Stanford would argue they’re probably even dirtier than the clothes Morty has on). Nevertheless, Morty is grateful for the change. However, Rick was a bit larger than Morty. Everything was at least two sizes too big and Morty found himself constantly tugging his shirt back up. It kept sliding off his shoulders and making him shiver at the exposed air.

They’re currently sitting face to face on Rick’s bed. Morty’s legs stretch out on either side of Rick, practically in the other man’s lap. Morty animatedly tells Rick about his many adventures in space (minus any details about his companion of course) using wild gestures and impressions. Ford lounges on the other side of the room, his nose buried in a book. He catches brief mentions here and there but tunes most of it out. As interested as he was in the multi-verse, it was unsettling to see Rick watching Morty so intently. 

“And so then these giant alien bugs popped out of them! Goo was everywhere and I—“

Rick hums as Morty talks. After two days of observation Rick had noticed that the stutter went away the more confident the teen became. It was cute. He slides his hands closer over Morty’s hips and absentmindedly strokes them. Morty falters in his story, blush dusting his cheeks.

“And then what happened?” He urges him.

“A-and then—then uh,” Morty’s hands come down to grip the bed sheet.

Rick had only known him for two days, but it felt like Morty fit into his side like a puzzle piece. Morty laughed freely at his jokes, stood by his side when trouble went down, and fussed adorably over his health. His smiles were timid, but real. Rick loved seeing them, loved being the one that put them there. But for all that Morty was a paradox. He fit so perfectly by his side and yet there was a constant hesitance there. Morty was always teetering between being at ease and standing on edge around Rick. It baffled him that Morty slept so soundly in his bed at night curled up next to him, and then couldn’t stand to look at him in the morning.

Rick digs his fingers into Morty’s hip bone, watching his eyes dart this way and that. 

“Am I distracting you?”

Morty only shakes, unable to nod.

“Want me to stop?”

Morty swallows and Rick watches his adam’s apple bob up and down. He wants to bite it. 

When Morty speaks it’s so quiet Rick has to strain to hear it.

“I don’t know.” He looks conflicted and unsure.

Rick removes his hands regardless, backing off before Morty completely shuts down. Morty looks relieved and frustrated all at once. He shifts and his shirt falls off one shoulder revealing milky skin. It goes straight to Rick’s dick. He holds back a groan.

“Be right back.” He mumbles, untangling himself from Morty to head out the door.

The thing about living in a dormitory with communal bathrooms was that it was impossible to jack off without someone knowing about it. Not that he gave a fuck who knew he was jerking it, but Morty was getting under his skin frighteningly fast. If Rick wanted to fuck someone, he fucked them. But Morty, who trembled under his touch yet still reached out in the dark of night when he thought Rick was asleep—

Rick reaches the bathroom and shoves open a stall. He groans as he grabs his cock in hand. The stall wasn’t very big but it didn’t need to be. He jerks off quickly and clumsily, thinking of the corner of Morty’s mouth and how he’d _ruin_ him. 

He heads back to the room within minutes and flops onto the bed. Ford stares judgmentally at him. Rick flips him off, the asshole somehow got it into his head that Morty’s ‘purity’ needed to be protected or whatever. He was probably just lonely in his Virgin Club and wanted company.

“So, where were we?” He grins at Morty and lays his head on his lap.

Morty stiffens, as expected, but slowly relaxes and hesitantly threads his fingers through Rick’s hair. Rick purrs at Morty’s touch. He drifts in and out of sleep as he listens to the kid pick up his tale.

-

Days pass by with no sign of Morty’s supposed companion. Morty grows more nervous by the day and Stanford feels a little sorry for the teen. He doesn’t really understand the complications of dimensional travel yet, so he isn’t sure how hard it is to track someone. Whenever he asked Morty about it he’d flippantly wave him away, saying that his companion was forgetful at times and would eventually remember to come get him. 

Either way, both he and Rick welcomed Morty into their small dorm room with open arms. (Both making sure to keep it a secret from the university of course.) It was actually a bit surprising by just how ‘welcoming’ Rick was. Stanford has known Rick for roughly a year and he’s positive the man is the most difficult and obnoxious being in existence. He makes Stanley look like a saint in comparison. But with only a few days being around Morty, Stanford suddenly doesn’t know what to think. The difference in Rick was blaringly apparent. He—well— _coveted_ the kid. If that was even the right word for it. 

Stanford didn’t even know Rick was capable of anything other than a one night stand. Yet there they were, across the room, _cuddling_. It didn’t make any sense. Rick was a rowdy and uncontrollable mess. What was making him so attached to this nervous teenager? 

Morty was a nice kid, but Stanford had to admit there was nothing remotely special about him. He wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box by any means. He was skittish at best and he wasn’t exceptionally good-looking either. Ford could understand it if he at least liked to party the same way Rick did, but Morty was too nervous to socialize properly whenever someone approached him. He’d just hide behind Rick’s back and look down at the floor.

When Morty had first shown up, Stanford had watched with surprise and grudging respect when this small kid knocked someone out twice his size. But then he watched as Morty proceeded to try and patch Rick up. Rick, unsurprisingly, had used the situation to invite Morty to a party later where he’d no doubt try to get into the boy’s pants. Morty obviously knew nothing of Rick’s deviant behavior. Stanford felt an odd sort of parental concern for him. It may have been because all of Stanford’s research was just speculation and Morty’s arrival was proof that it was all real; but urge was still there nevertheless. And it would be up to him to protect Morty until his companion came back to fetch him. 

However, despite being notorious for sleeping around and an insatisfiable flirt, Rick never went past teasing with the Morty. Stanford began spending more time in the dorm room, prepared to break up any attempts on Rick’s part to rob Morty of anything he didn’t want to give. But for some strange reason he never had to. Instead, they would lounge together on Rick’s bed; reading or listening to the radio and whatnot. 

Rick didn’t _do_ things like this. He ate, he drank, he fucked, he slept. He didn’t sit pressed against his partner’s back, legs on either side, arms wrapped around their middle. What was it that was making Rick so docile? Ford had known that guy to be brash, loud, and obnoxious ever since he first met him but for the first time he was actually—dare he say it—pliant. 

Morty himself was a mystery, as far as being a traveler from another dimension went. He seemed to cling to Rick everywhere they went. He followed him around campus, into town, sometimes in class because he got bored sitting in the room all day. Rick indulged him with anything he wanted. He couldn’t say not to the kid.

“Oh yeah, I just remembered.” Rick interrupts Ford’s train of thought as he leans over to his night stand to take something long and thin out of the drawer. “I made it for your phone. It ran out of power, right?”

Ford’s ears perk up at the mention of the phone. After getting back from the lab on that first day when Morty had arrived, he had pulled something black and sleek out of his pocket and started tapping on it. Both Rick and Ford had been captivated. Morty, blushing ten ways to Sunday at the attention, explained that it was a portable phone. 

_(“But how does it work?” Ford gasped._

_“W-well, it’s kind of like a two way radio. In the future they build these huge towers to carry the signal across large areas of land. I only understand the gist of it.”_

_“Wait, if you have one shouldn’t your traveling companion also have one?” Rick asked, a strange frown forming on his face. “Are you going to call them and tell them where you are?”_

_“No, the cell phone towers haven’t been built here yet. I don’t have any service. But I can still use my phone for games and stuff.”_

_“Games?”_

_Morty pressed a few buttons and then held the phone up to the two men, showing them the wonders of Candy Crush, Angry Birds, and Cut the Rope.)_

Morty had made the mistake of letting Rick play with his phone. Within hours, Rick had exhausted the battery and became a reigning champion of Flappy Bird. Morty had seemed a little upset at the time, but brushed it off saying he didn’t mind. 

Rick holds the cord up. “I figured building a power cord wouldn’t be all that difficult, considering I’m a genius and all.” 

He grins triumphantly as Morty hesitantly takes the cord. Morty bunches the thing up in his lap and his lip trembles. 

“Thank you, Rick.” 

His voice is tiny and soft, and Ford has to do a double take because he swears he just saw Rick Sanchez _blush_. Rick turns away and coughs into his hand.

“Yeah, like I said, it was nothing.”

Ford has to look away from the display. Ugh, he really needed sleep. He’s never given Rick a second thought and yet now he and Morty were all he could think about. He had better things to do than to try and analyze their relationship. He just hopes that Morty’s so-called companion comes soon. He really wants to ask them all sorts of questions about the multi-verse. His research so far has been less than informative and he needs more to go on.

With that thought in mind he resolves to stuff Rick into the back of his mind. An unwanted shirt, forgotten in the corner of a closet. Just as it should be.

-

“Uh, Rick?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did we park so far away?”

Declaring that they were out of Cheetos, Rick had swept Morty up and announced they would be making a run to the convenience store. Used to being dragged around, Morty didn’t question it. But Rick had currently parked them in a back alleyway and it was creating a sense of dread in the pit of Morty’s stomach.

“Because, dipshit, the cameras will spot the license plate on the car.”

Rick turns in his seat, rummaging in the backseat for his pack. He doesn’t seem to notice that Morty was currently short circuiting. 

“Why would we be worried about the cameras, Rick?” Morty asks as calmly as he can.

“Well, gee, I don’t know, Morty.” Rick says sarcastically as he pulls out two black ski masks. “How else should you rob a store?”

The car falls in to complete silence. Outside sounds of traffic and people filter in through a crack in the window.

 _“I thought you just wanted to get some snacks!”_ Morty screeches, completely losing all semblance of composure.

“First of all, we _are_ getting snacks. We’re just not gonna pay for them. Second of all, I have to rob this store or I lose a bet.”

“That’s your excuse for everything!” Morty holds a finger up over his eyebrows and imitates a gruff voice. “‘I can’t do this or I lose a bet! I have to do this or I lose a bet!’” 

“The fuck? Is that supposed to be me?” Rick growls. “What the hell is your problem?”

Morty seethes with anger from the passenger seat. “I don’t want to commit a felony, Rick! I’m not going to jail for you!”

“We’re not going to jail, relax.”

“I mean it Rick! I’m not stealing any money!”

“Whoa! Whoa! Who said anything about money?”

Morty stops short. “But—but I thought—“

“We’re here for snacks like I said.” Rick thinks for a moment. “Beer too. Beer would be good.”

Morty squints. “And we won’t take _any_ money?”

“Cross my heart.” Rick smirks at him.

Morty frowns, turning to stare out the window. Confliction was no stranger to Morty. In fact, it was more like an old friend at this point. He really doesn’t understand why Rick couldn’t just pay for things like a normal person.

“Could you hurry it up a bit and make your decision? I have to get this car back to Ford before he realizes it’s gone.”

“Wait, you stole his car?!”

“ _Borrowed_ , Morty! I’ll give it back! Geez what’s with you today?”

Morty points an offending finger at Rick. “You still took it without asking and now you’re about to commit a crime with it! He could get into trouble, Rick! What if we get caught and they trace the car back to him?”

“Duh, that’s the whole point of why we’re using it.”

Morty claps his hands over his face and makes a series of frustrated noises.

Rick rolls his eyes. “Okay fine, I’ll cover the plates with a towel or something. Happy?”

Morty says nothing.

“You in or what? I don’t have all day here.”

Morty looks up from his palms, glaring hatefully past his fingers. One the one hand, he could sit here in stubborn defiance and wait for Rick to come back with stolen goods. But on the other hand, what if something happened? What if Rick got caught, or worse? What if he needed Morty’s help?

Growling in unending frustration, Morty snatches the second mask out of Rick’s hands. “I fucking hate you.”

“You love it.” Rick winks before shoving his own mask over his head. “Now let’s fucking do this!”

Rick kicks open his door with a war cry and leaps out of the car. 

“Oh geez!” Morty scrambles to follow suit. 

2 minutes later Rick bursts into the store holding up a gun. (“El Diablo’s in the house motherfucker!”)

30 seconds later Rick is stuffing bags of Cheetos down his shirt and shouting at Morty to get the beer.

1 minute later Morty apologizes profoundly to the terrified elderly man behind the counter.

3 minutes later Morty drops the beer twice running back to the car.

5 minutes later they’re speeding through traffic when they hear sirens.

45 minutes later Rick pulls over and Morty throws up on the side of the road. 

Rick approaches behind him and pats him on the back. “Shit man, I thought we were done for back there! That was crazy!”

“Oh god...” Morty moans.

“I’ve never seen such a big pile up of cars before!”

Morty closes his eyes, trying not to concentrate on the images baring through his brain.

“...the roof just tore right off! And did you see the way that—“

Morty spits into the grass but the taste of vomit is still there. Rick claps him on the back again and Morty nearly falls over.

“You’re not a bad thief for a beginner! Unrelated, but do you have any plans for what you wanna do for the future?”

Morty straightens and glares up at Rick. He wipes a hand across his mouth. 

“This isn’t the start of a new life of crime, Rick! This was a lapse in judgement and nothing more!” 

He still can’t believe he fucking did that. In a blind panic, Morty had hastily taken out the time crystal in his phone (Rick had given it to him to ensure that he got coverage no matter which dimension, or which planet they were on so long as there were cell phone towers to hack into) and slammed it against Rick’s gun. He’d no idea what he’d been expecting. But the crystal fused instantly, morphing the gun into a high tech laser-like weapon. He’d then rolled down his window and open fired on the cop cars chasing them. The initial black destroyed half a block.

Thinking about it is starting to make Morty hyperventilate again and he tries to take deep, calming breaths. God, oh god, what if they were dead? What if he’d killed them all? They were just police doing their jobs, they didn’t deserve to die!

Rick laughs beside him. He wraps an arm around Morty’s neck and rubs his knuckles against his head. 

“You’re a little miracle, Morty!”

“Don’t touch me.” Morty mutters.

Still chuckling, Rick releases him and walks back to the car. Morty dejectedly follows. He snags a bag of Cheetos off the floor and opens it. He just wanted to get this awful taste out of his mouth.

“Oh come on,” Rick starts up the car and drives away, “can you admit that that was at least a little bit fun?”

Morty turns away from him, chomping angrily on cheesy goodness. Rick lets out a sigh and leaves Morty alone. The chase had taken them across town and they now had to take the long way back to the dorms.

After several minutes of silence, Rick speaks up.

“Thanks.” He says quietly.

Morty stiffens. Wind rustled through the windows and the radio was on low. It was possible he’d misheard. But when he turns to look at Rick the man’s face is a blank slate.

“No one’s ever had my back before.” Rick explains, and he looks like he wants to say more but can’t.

Morty blinks, in awe of the situation before him. This was Rick Sanchez before he had become a cynical old man, hateful towards the world and everyone in it. Before he had deteriorated into a good-for-nothing alcoholic. This was a Rick capable of thanking someone, or even apologizing to them when he was wrong. It astounded him.

“You’re welcome.” Morty offers, staring down at the floorboards. 

They ride for a few more moments and then, “Was there really a bet?”

Rick smirks. “Yeah. Francis is an asshole, fucking bragging it up every fucking time I see him. Thinks he’s some hot shit gangster.”

“Oh.” Morty twiddles his thumbs, trying to remember if he’d met Francis before or not. Rick had lots of friends. It was hard to remember them all.

“...that was his grandparent’s store.” 

Morty looks up and sees Rick’s shit-eating grin. He tries to resist the tug at his lips, but Morty can’t fight off the smile for long. 

“You didn’t.” He smirks back at Rick.

“Oh, I did.”

Morty shakes his head, laughing quietly to himself.

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Damn straight.”

He has to admit, even now Rick’s charisma was pulling him in. Morty may not have liked stealing or pulling a gun on anyone, but he can still feel the remnants of the adrenaline rush coursing through his skin. He’d been scared beyond his mind. But for the first time in 3 years, for the first time since his grandfather’s death, he feels alive. 

Morty sneaks a glance at Rick. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel, back slouched in his seat, and wind flowing through his hair. Somewhere, deep in the pit of Morty’s belly, he realizes he wants something he should never, _ever_ want. And it’s terrifying.

-

Morty nervously runs a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time. He really didn’t want to go to this party, but at the same time he did. He never did too well at social gatherings, but something about watching Rick in his youth, even mundane things like eating or sleeping, were occupying way too many of Morty’s thoughts lately. He’d seen Rick at parties before, but not when he was young. Not when he was in his twenties. 

Stanford, sensing his discomfort, offered for Morty to stay with him back in the room. But Rick, tugging firmly at his wrist, had won out. Rick always won out. Morty could never say no to him, no matter what form he took. Plus, he had promised to go to the keger if his ‘companion’ hadn’t come to get him by the weekend. He couldn’t just back out now.

And so that was how Morty found himself uncomfortably squished on a couch at a college frat party. Rick was playing beer pong. He was absolutely hammered and an undefeated champion. Morty sips on his own cup of beer, pretending not to notice the couple sitting next to him making out. The girl moans loudly, shedding off her top so that she was down to her bra. Morty swallows and tries not to make eye contact. He looks over at Rick who winks at him across the table. Morty blushes.

“Oi, Morty!” He calls out over the music. “How bout a—a good l-luck kiss?” He slurs, raising the ping pong ball. 

If only to escape the couple beside him, Morty awkwardly gets up from his seat and shuffles across the room to where Rick was. He’s surrounded by kids who are older and much bigger than him. He feels out of place.

Rick holds up the ball, grinning widely at him. “Last shot!”

Morty tries not to think about how the ball was probably coated with germs. He leans over and places a small peck on it. 

“Thanks Mort!” Rick turns back to the crowd. “Alright, lemme—lemme shoOOOooow you idiots how it’s done!”

He bounces the ball across the table towards the last remaining cup of beer. Sure enough, it goes in. The crowd hoops and hollers. 

“Every time man! How do you even do that?” Someone punches Rick’s shoulder in congratulations.

“You’re the man, Rick!”

“Totally trippin dawg!”

Rick shrugs them off, wrapping an arm around Morty’s shoulders. “Thanks, but I believe I’ve been neglecting MoOOoorty here.”

Rick steers him away from the crowd of the living room and into the kitchen. The air was thick with freshly baked pot brownies and Morty coughs. There’s still a couple slices of pizza left and Rick grabs one for himself. With nothing better to do, Morty gets another beer. He was starting to get a sort a pleasant buzz, and Morty was only too happy to forget about how awkward he felt at this thing.

He’s been doing nothing but staring at Rick all night. Morty has been trying all week to ignore these weird feelings. Rick is a storm; more wild than anything he’s ever seen. Alcohol is doing nothing to lift the dark pit of growing lust in his stomach, in fact it’s probably enhancing it. He feels like wrong and out of place. He feels like someone else.

In the back of his mind, Morty hears the voice of his therapist raising from the depths of his consciousness. Beth, worried for her son after Rick’s death, had put him through counseling. Though Morty was positive it was just to make herself feel less embarrassed about going to therapy too. Like she didn’t want to go alone. Morty had stopped going after only a few months but he can still hear her voice even now.

_You’re projecting your grief and pain over the loss of your grandfather onto something new. Your body, however misguided it may be, is taking a negative emotion and trying to turn it into a positive one._

But was that what this really was? Some sick way to get over Rick’s death and move on? He’s pretty sure fucking an alternate version of your grandfather isn’t the best of ways to deal with grief. Although it was probably the best way to get a one-way ticket to being Fucked Up. In that case he was solid.

He can’t help but feel a little bitter. Rick had barged into their lives without warning and swept Morty off on adventures that changed his whole world-view. He had promised Morty the universe. It was supposed to be them against it all. And then he’d died. He’d died and he was never coming back. It’d taken Morty a long time to come to terms with that. Rick always had a trump card up his sleeve, some hidden trick that saved his neck in the end. But there was no trick. No illusion. No clone.

He was simply gone.

“Man it’s hot.” Rick complains, mouth half full with food. 

Morty looks over at him, hating how the lighting shone down _just_ right making Rick’s hair seem bluer than normal. Maybe he just needed to get laid. Just go find a girl, have sex with her, and forget all about Rick Sanchez.

“Let’s go swimming!” Rick suddenly announces, throwing the rest of the pizza back in the box.

Morty tenses. “B-but aren’t you supposed to wait 30 minutes after eating?” 

“God, Morty, lighten up!” Rick moves past him towards the back door. His hands are already working on his shirt and Morty feels his face light up when it comes off. 

Morty quickly averts his eyes. He’d already seen what was happening out back in the pool. The frat boys had put up a sign indicating that there were no clothes allowed in the water; skinny dipping only. He silently prays that Rick wasn’t going to—

Never mind he’s naked. 

“Cannonball!” Rick splashes into the water with a shout. 

Morty really doesn’t want to look at his young, naked, not-grandfather. Even with clothes Morty felt confused whenever he looked Rick’s way. Without clothes it was much, much worse.

“Moooorty!” Rick calls. “Stop being a-a-a pussy and get in the water!”

He really shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t. But Rick waves at him from the pool, water running down his chest and down his happy trail and _oh_ this wasn’t good. 

Rick turns to elbow the person next to him. “Come on, Ch-chuck help me out!”

Chuck, sporting a six pack and muscles to die for, raises his voice. “Yeah! Get in the water, Morty!”

“Yeah! Morty!”

“Stop being a pussy Morty!”

Caught in the magic of crowd chanting, the entire pool falls into the chant. Rick laughs and splashes in the water. Morty twists on his spot on the deck. He wasn’t like these college kids. He was small, sickly, no muscle at all. No one wanted to see that. He’d look ridiculous next to someone like Chuck.

Goddammit this liquid courage wasn’t helping at all. He clearly wasn’t drunk enough for this shit yet. 

Clenching his beer in his fist, Morty throws his head back and chugs the entire contents. The crowd cheers in triumphant. Once finished, Morty tosses the cup aside, not even aiming for the trash can, and lifts his shirt up over his head. He shucks his pants off in record time and dives into the pool before he can rethink his choices.

Rick claps him on the shoulder, grinning ear to ear. “Ready to—eRUUp—ready to knock some teeth in with some water volleyball?”

Morty has never played volleyball in his life. Let alone in the water. But he nods all the same. How hard could it be?

-

Rick has to hand it to himself. He was a fucking genius sometimes (all the time). The plan had gone off without a hitch. He’d not only gotten Morty drunk, he’d also managed to convince him to join him in skinny dipping. He hadn’t been 100% certain if he’d manage to convince him, but peer pressure seemed to be a good way to go. Morty, adorably awkward as he was, had caved and nervously followed Rick into the pool. Morty completely sucked at volleyball and took several hits to the face. Chuck was a fucking monster when it came to sports.

Rick made no reservations about staring at Morty’s junk under the water. He even made several passing comments. The charm was on full throttle and Rick intended to win. He had to admit, declaring that everyone had to take a penalty shot of alcohol whenever somebody missed the ball was the best idea ever. Morty had been drunk a mere 20 minutes into the game.

They sit practically on top of each other on chair in the corner now, still a little wet from swimming. Rick nuzzles Morty’s exposed neckline, he has every intention of deflowering the boy before he sobers up. Morty looks positively swallowed up by his shirt and Rick has never wanted him more.

“R-rick.” Morty hums, squirming in place. 

Rick holds Morty’s hips steady as he grinds against him. He reaches up to nibble on an ear and Morty whines.

“ _God_ you sound so good.” He breathes against his ear. “You—you look so good in my clothes.”

“Rick.” Morty whines again, he was hard. 

“You want me to suck you off M-m-ERRUGH-orty?” he places a sloppy kiss on his neck. “W-want me to take you upstairs and suck your cock?”

Morty is a puddle in Rick’s arms. Rick wants to twist inside him and make him forget everything in that other dimension. He wants to make him forget everything but Rick’s name.

Dazed, Morty lets Rick lead him upstairs. The air was thicker up here. Sounds of sex vibrated through the walls, joining the beat of the music below. 

Rick throws open a random door and growls at another couple to beat it. Morty feels the awkwardness slowly returning as he stands there watching the other couple get dressed and slink past him out the door. Was this really where he was going to lose his virginity?

Rick slams the door shut, making Morty jump. Through the haze of alcohol Morty feels apprehension fill him. This may not be his Rick, but it still felt undeniably weird and _wrong_. He’s not sure how or why he let Rick talk him into this. But then Rick takes off his shirt, muscles slick with sweat, and _oh_ that’s why. 

Morty’s eyes latch onto Rick’s happy trail and he _wants_. It’s been taunting him for hours now. He licks his lips and fails to keep the moan from spilling out. Rick grins, running a hand through his already messy hair. Morty feels Rick’s gaze roaming over his body and feels simultaneously ashamed and very, very turned on. 

He backs up and his knees hit the bed. Rick approaches him, growling like a predator. Morty feels like he’s 9 years old again watching an Animal Planet special with Jerry. As Rick’s teeth pull back Morty is reminded of the first time he’d seen a lion rip apart its prey on TV. He’d averted his eyes, unable to watch while Jerry had whistled low at the amount of blood that poured out of the injured animal. Morty had never been able to stand that much violence. 

He shivers. As much as he is sacred, he is also terribly and irrevocably aroused.

“I—I’m confused.” He whispers.

“Then stop thinking.” Rick says, and pulls him into a kiss.

He rubs Morty through his jeans, cupping his genitals and pressing down. Morty squirms, bucking up into his hand. Rick chuckles softly and nibbles at his collarbone. This, Rick sighs, _this_ was everything. The way Morty moaned, the way he trembled under his fingers, the way he blushed so sweetly...Morty. His Morty.

But there was a truth in the back of his mind he’d been ignoring all week. Morty would be leaving soon. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but soon. He didn’t...he didn’t have to go right? Could he stay? Would he even want to?

Rick rubs his cheek against Morty’s soft skin and sighs. He knew he wasn’t the best partner, but he could try to make the kid happy. Morty could forget all about the people in that other dimension, he could live with Rick. Rick and Morty. The dynamic duo. Crashing parties and wrecking shit.

His hands wander up Morty’s shirt and find his nipples. Morty’s gasps feel like heaven on his ears. He flicks them again.

“R-rick, can I—can I t-touch you?” Morty stumbles over his words so adorably, even now.

“Of course.” He laughs. “You can—eEERUup—you can do anything you want to me, baby.”

Without batting an eyelash Rick flips them over so that he’s lying on the bed with Morty sitting above him. Morty’s head spins at the sudden transition and grabs at Rick’s chest for support. His shoulders shake as he tentatively reaches out to stroke the dark curls that lead down into Rick’s pants. Morty’s look of willed concentration has Rick growing even harder. He looked, for the most part, like he was in school and was struggling with a particularly difficult multiple choice question.

A) should he touch his cock?  
B) should he take off his pants?  
C) should he say something dirty?  
D) all of the above

Morty experimentally grinds down on the bulge in Rick’s pants and watches as the other man’s eyes grow dark with lust. It should have scared him. Should have made him realize what a Bad Idea this was. But Rick was always the one affecting him. He was always the one holding Morty on a leash and pulling him around. It felt good to be the one affecting Rick for a change. It felt powerful.

Placing his nails on Rick’s chest, he scraps them down over his skin. Rick moans.

“S-shit, Morty!”

The spit in Morty’s mouth dries up in seconds. He can’t believe he could make Rick fall apart like this. It felt like he’d discovered some dark, secret and now that he knew he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Rick? Do—do you want me?” 

Morty has no idea how dirty talk works but apparently he’s going to try. 

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Rick shivers underneath him. Morty can’t believe this is actually working.

“Morty...a-h, fuuuck!”

Morty’s voice drops to a whisper and he feels embarrassed before he even asks, “Do you want to c-cum inside me?”

Rick thrusts up against Morty, making them both moan. 

“Fuck yes!” Rick growls, gripping both of Morty’s hips with his hands and grinding against him.

Morty feels his breath get knocked out of him. No one’s ever wanted him as much as Rick does. No one’s ever looked at him the way that Rick does. Was it really so bad then, that Morty wanted him too?

Tentatively, he reaches up to remove his shirt. He jumps when Rick reaches for his zipper and starts to tug at his pants. Morty sits up, sliding his pants and underwear off his legs and flinging them to the floor. Cold air rolls over him like a wave. This was it. He was sitting naked on a bed in front of his not-grandfather and about to have sex with him.

He stares openly as Rick stands up to get the rest of his clothes off as well. Rick’s cock is red and thick. That’s going to go _in_ him, he thinks. Morty curls in on himself, averting his gaze.

The bed dips and Morty looks up to see Rick sitting across from him. He doesn’t make a move to touch him. Not yet.

He lifts a hand, hovering it over Morty’s cheek. “ _Please_.”

Rick’s voice is steady but his face is contorted. Morty shivers, unconsciously leaning closer. If he concentrates, he can see where the lines on Rick’s face will eventually deepen and lengthen with old age. He can see the crow’s feet and the bald spot. Rick’s face is one he knows very well. It’s engraved in his memory. Rick, _his_ Rick, has haunted him even years after his death. Even now he can’t forget that moment the bullet tore through his grandfather’s head.

But here, in this room, there is a Rick who wants everything Morty is. Morty has never seen a Rick so desperate and hopeful before. Morty wants to give him everything. He wants to finally let go. Being reassigned to a new Rick hasn’t filled the hole in his heart at all. He wants more.

His eyes fall shut, and Morty leans into Rick’s hand. “Touch me.” 

And Rick does.

Rick can take up the space of any room he occupies. His genius and charisma are overpowering even on days when he’s too drunk to stand up. And now, all of that was directed tenfold onto Morty. Rick’s fingers pinch and scrap across his stomach, over his legs and thighs. Morty trembles. The cold air is gone, replaced by a heat so startling he can barely hold on. 

Teeth sink into the sensitive meat of his thigh and Morty jolts. “R-rick!”

Rick smirks down at him, licking up his leg as he holds Morty’s gaze. Morty gut twists at the sight. Rick was undeniably sexy. He was still unsure if it was okay to think so, but his body could no longer deny it. He moans underneath him, needing more of Rick’s skin on his.

“Shhh, baby.” Rick sounds just as wrecked as he does. “I’ll take care of you.”

And then, blessedly, Morty feels Rick’s hand on his cock. Rick’s hands were bigger than his, more firm and calloused. They felt wonderful. Morty feels like his entire body has dissolved into goo and Rick is molding him back together. 

Somewhere, in the haze of Morty’s mind, he hears the snap of a bottle. A finger, cold and slick, presses against his hole. “Open up for me, Morty.”

Shakily, Morty relaxes himself, letting Rick slip through the muscle and feel inside. A thought breaks through his defenses and Morty suddenly finds himself wondering how many other people has Rick done this with? How many times has he seduced someone into his bed and had them withering underneath them? How many times has Rick calculated the right thing to say and when to say it?

Rick adds another finger and twists up. “F-fuck Morty you’re so tight.”

Morty breathes out, trying to figure out how to breathe back in. Rick looked like he was at a loss for words. As if he was unable to figure out just what to do with Morty. This wasn’t calculated. This wasn’t a seduction. If anything, Morty was the one seducing him. 

Morty’s experimented with his ass before, but Rick’s fingers are longer than his and he squirms on the bedsheets. He’s already so full and Rick’s only just begun. Morty is suddenly terrified of cumming early and embarrassing himself. Would Rick laugh at him? 

“J-just do it.” He says softly, hating how his voice cracks. 

“Morty—“

_“Please.”_

Rick’s expression softens. “Anything for you baby.”

The fingers leave and are replaced with something much, much bigger. The first push has Morty gasping for air that suddenly isn’t there anymore. Rick coaxes him through it, instructing him to breathe with each small thrust in. Morty’s fingers dig into Rick’s shoulders, scrambling for support. Rick is his anchor, in every crazy situation they’ve ever been in, Morty instinctually reaches for him. His rock against the sea.

Rick kisses his forehead. “I’m gonna move, okay?”

Morty shakily nods. It was weird having Rick be this nice. He wasn’t used to it. He’d half expected him to just shove it in without preparation. Rick didn’t hold him like this. He didn’t whisper tenderly as he caressed him. Rick wasn’t gentleman. He wasn’t gentle at all. 

Morty feels like sobbing with each thrust as he’s opened up again and again. Rick buries his face in Morty’s neck, breathing hard against his ear. Morty’s arms come up to wrap around him and pull him closer, tighter. 

“L-look what you’ve done to me, Morty.” He growls lowly. 

Morty can’t respond. He’s not sure how to anymore. Every time he tries the words get caught in his throat and deconstruct themselves into a garbled mess of moans and gasps. Rick strokes a hand through his hair. 

“You’ve ruined me, M-morty.” He bites his earlobe, sucking fast to the skin. “You—you’ve ruined me.”

Rick twists up inside him and Morty quivers in his hold. Morty’s breathing is erratic against Rick’s ear and it’s driving him crazy. What was it about this kid that made him want to sink inside his skin and never come out? 

“R-rick!” Morty bites at Rick’s shoulders, hot tears rolling against his skin. 

Rick twists and something bursts inside Morty, making him jump. Rick thrusts up again into his sweet spot. Morty’s fingers dig painfully in as his moans climb in volume.

“T-there! Oh god, there!”

Try as he might, Morty doesn’t last very long. The over-stimulus to his prostate coupled with Rick reaching down to jerk his cock, has him climaxing in little time. Morty shudders as he comes, pouring out all of his pain and pleasure into Rick. Overwhelmed, and unable to control himself, the words spill out of his lips.

“I love you.”

Morty loved his grandfather. Still does. Past and present tense blurred into one on occasion whenever Morty momentarily forgot that his assigned Rick was not his original one. He still loves going on adventures with him and seeing the universe. He loves the way Rick is so confident and unafraid to face anything head on. He loves Rick as his family. He loves him as his friend. And whether or not that included loving him romantically, Morty wasn’t entirely sure. But he hopes that he can reach this Rick, so young and so kind, with his feelings just this once. He wants to make him understand. Whatever they were, Morty wanted to always be a part of Rick’s life.

Rick doesn’t say anything back, but he holds Morty tightly all the same. He pulls out just before he comes. Morty licks the sweat off his neck and Rick visibly shudders. 

“Shit, Morty.” He can barely hold himself up. “You sure you’ve never done this before?”

Morty opens his mouth to say no but it comes out more like ‘ughslkd.’

Rick chuckles, kissing his head once more, and flops onto the mattress beside Morty. Now that he wasn’t immediately distracted anymore, the outside sounds start to fill back into the room. The thump of the muffled music, the breathy moans from the room next to theirs, the shouts of frat boys outside the window. But the only thing Rick could focus on, was the sound of Morty’s breath. In and out, in and out. It presented a steady rhythm against the torrent of his mind. 

Morty snuggles into the pillows and Rick has half a mind to warn him against it. Someone had probably jizzed all over them. But it wasn’t like the bed itself wasn’t already a cum infested disaster. It was well past midnight which meant there had been at least 5 other couples here before them. Rick honestly doesn’t give a shit.

Morty yawns beside him and shivers at the sudden burst of cold. Rick smirks. Spoiled little brat. He rolls over on top of Morty. The kid huffs indignantly beneath him, but he doesn’t tell him to get off. Rick sighs, scooting lower and pressing his face against Morty’s stomach. He closes his eyes and lets the rhythm take over. In, out. In, out.

Something crashes outside. Morty tenses. There’s sounds of giggling as whoever had fallen tries to stand back up. They pass by the door, looking for an unoccupied room.

Rick presses his nose into Morty’s belly. He’s taken by a sudden urge to kiss it, and never one to deny himself, does just that. Morty whines. Rick rubs his cheek against him and does it again.

“Riiiick—“ Morty mewls.

Feigning innocence, Rick licks a wet stripe up Morty’s stomach. The kid’s breath hitches. He can feel Morty growing hard again. He smirks. Well that was quick.

He places a particularly wet kiss right over his bellybutton, reveling in the way it quivers. He trails his lips downwards, traveling lower. Rick listens intently for all the tiny gasps and groans each flick of the tongue produces, drinking all of it in. 

Morty’s cock grows until it’s red and swollen. Rick looks up into the teen’s eyes. Making sure that Morty was watching, he leans down and sucks the tip into his mouth. Morty quivers, tears forming in his eyes. Rick has the distinct feeling he’s never been sucked off before. He’s oddly glad that he’s the first. The first to taste this dick and press meaningless kisses up and down the vein, the first to watch as Morty falls apart for the second time that evening. 

Rick slowly takes him into his mouth, humming in the back of his throat. Morty struggles not to thrust up, but fails spectacularly. But Rick is already prepared. His hands come up to clamp down on Morty’s thighs, holding him in place. Morty’s hands dig in his hair, pulling at the seams like he’s being split in two.

Removing one hand off him, Rick slides two fingers through the aching muscle of Morty’s hole. It’s still raw and wet from being used. Morty moans at the intrusion. Carefully, Rick twists up, pressing against Morty’s prostate. His head bobs up and down as he sucks Morty’s cock. 

_That’s it, Morty,_ Rick thinks. _Come for me, baby._

Morty comes and comes and comes; choking and writhing and silently crying. Rick pulls back, spitting out Morty’s load onto the floor below. That carpet’s seen worse days, he’s sure of it.

Rick stays like that, for a moment. He looks down at Morty basking in the afterglow. His skin is littered with red teeth marks and it fills Rick with an odd sort of satisfaction. Rick unconsciously rubs one of the marks over Morty’s hip. He didn’t want this for today or tomorrow. He didn’t want to wake up a week from now in an empty bed. He wanted Morty forever. Forever and ever and a hundred years. 

He leans down, hands stretched out on either side of Morty’s head. Morty looks blissfully back up at him, sated and full. He wants to keep him.

“Stay with me.” 

Rick almost doesn’t realize he’s said it. His voice is too soft for comfort. Too broken to be steady.

Sadness blooms in Morty’s eyes and Rick knows the answer before he even replies. Of course he knows. That’s the way it had to be. Morty didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong with him. 

“I already am with you.” 

It could mean a hundred different things in a hundred different ways. But there’s an impossible understanding in Rick’s eyes as Morty tells him.

He kisses Morty on his forehead, burying his nose in his hair. He closes his eyes and tries to commit Morty’s scent to memory.

-

Morty yawns. His hands sluggishly squeeze out toothpaste onto his brush and he holds it up to his teeth. He looks at himself in the mirror. His hair is a wild array of discourse, there’s a rip in his shirt, and he’s pretty sure that’s gum in his hair. He wasn’t even chewing gum last night.

He sighs, letting his shoulders droop. Morty closes his eyes, revealing in the brief moment of darkness, and then opens them again. Rick, old and wrinkled, stares back at him in the mirror behind him.

“Rick!”

Morty jumps, flinging the toothbrush from his mouth to land somewhere in the bathroom. Rick looks incredibly displeased.

“H-hey! You’re here!” Morty’s insides have started to spiral and swirl into a downwards descent of panic.

“Are you a fucking idiot?”

“What, uh, w-what do you mean?” Morty’d eyes dart around the bathroom, looking for eavesdroppers. But it’s early Sunday morning. Everyone is still asleep.

“What part of being a fucking human cloaking device do you not understand? When you’re with a Rick you—you balance out the brain waves and make both of you invisible to detection! Y—you’re lucky I even found you!”

Morty cowers. “But I didn’t—I mean I didn’t have anywhere else to stay...”

“Here’s a-EURP-a hint M-morty! Stay away from other Ricks and maybe I’ll find you faster!”

Morty hangs his head, shame filling him. A part of him can’t help but feel angry towards himself. If he wasn’t such an idiot he would have remembered that he was a human shield and wouldn’t have had to be stranded for an entire week. He wouldn’t have gotten to know this world’s Rick so well. He wouldn’t have spent time with him. Or had fun with him. Or eaten breakfast with him. Or touch him...kiss him...

Rick pulls out his portal gun, grumbling to himself. “Jesus, M-moOOorty! Sometimes I think you can’t get any dumber but you just keep surprising me don’t you? You look like shit what the hell have you been doing? I leave you alone for two seconds and—“

“It w-wasn’t two seconds it was a week!” Morty mutters angrily under his breath.

Rick stops, glaring hard down on him. “You—you wanna say that again?” 

Morty is silent. He shakes his head slowly. 

“Good. Now get your ass in gear and let’s go.”

Rick shoots a portal in the wall and strides through, not even bothering to check and see if Morty is following, as if he expects Morty to just fall in line like a good little boy.

Morty takes one last look around the bathroom. It felt wrong to leave it like this. To leave Rick. They’d both known this was inevitable. But Morty had foolishly believed he could actually say goodbye when the time came. He sighs, resigning himself to his fate and makes to step through the portal.

But someone snatches his arm back.

Morty is yanked back from the green light. He spins around and comes face to face with the other Rick. His gut drops. 

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” Rick tilts his head. His hair was just as messy as his was. But something was wrong. He looked much, much worse.

“I—I...”

Rick smiles sadly. “I get it, fuck’em and leave’em. You’re hardcore kid. Gonna be a heartbreaker, huh?”

“T-that’s not what I was doing!” Morty tugs at the end of his shirt, desperately wanting to flee. There was so much he wanted to tell him. So much he wanted Rick to know. But now that he was right in front of him, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Then what were you doing?”

Cold prickles up Mort’s spine. He didn’t want to leave. Lord help him, but he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to go back to being miserable. But what about the rest of his family? What about Beth, Jerry, and Summer? He couldn’t just abandon them. Not now.

“I’m...I’m sorry...”

Just what was he going to say? That he never meant for it to end this way? That he didn’t mean to hurt anyone? He never even expected to stay in this dimension overnight let alone an entire week! If Rick had just come to—

Oh god, Rick!

Morty stiffens in the beginnings of panic. He was taking way too long to follow Rick into the portal! What if he came back out to see what was holding him up? What if he saw the two of them together? Desperate, Morty starts to struggle in Rick’s grasp. 

“I have to go!” He pleads. “I have to go now!” But Rick holds fast to his arm, unrelenting in his grip.

He can’t let them see each other. He doesn’t think he can take it if the awful, awful truth comes to light. He doesn’t want to see the disgust bloom in Rick’s face when he realizes just _who_ Morty really was. He’ll hate him. He’ll disgust him. And he can’t bear that thought.

“Goddammit Morty, what the hell? Would you fucking hold still?”

Morty pushes at Rick. “Let go!” His eyes are squeezed tight. He doesn’t want to look at whatever face Rick was making at him. Was it angry? Sad? Confused?

“Morty I’m trying to tell you something here would you just let me—“

But he never does finish his sentence. There’s a whirring sound and both of them turn to see a face reappearing through the portal. Morty feels his face drain as his grandfather pops his head out to stare sternly at him.

“What part of ‘get your ass in gear’ did you not understand?” Rick growls, alcohol spittle dripping off his lips. “Do you want me to just leave you here? Is that it?”

Morty can’t speak. He can’t move. He’s petrified. The other Rick’s grip is slack on his arm. Morty watches as his grandpa turns to him and sneers. 

“Quit being fucking dramatic and give me back my grandson. I go—ERRUP—got places to be.”

There is no gasp or stop of breath. He doesn’t fall to his knees or back away slowly. Rick’s grip simply falls from Morty’s arm. Silently standing, unmoving against him.

Razor sharp blades of guilt and shame tear through Morty’s heart like a blender. He’s nothing but tender mush of flesh and bones. It roars through his head and he wants to scream.

Hesitantly, he turns to look over at Rick. He doesn’t bring his eyes up to meet his face, but just enough to see his stance. The tightness in the shoulders, the white knuckled grip of his fists. Morty lowers his eyes back down. He remembered those early days when he’d first met his grandfather. He’d thought Rick was the worst person he’d ever met. But he was wrong. Compared to his drunk, narcissistic asshole grandfather, Morty was much, much worse.

_I’m sorry._

Morty steps towards the portal. His grandpa snorts, mumbling that it’d taken him long enough and did he even appreciate how Rick even bothered coming back for him?

A warmth bursts on his hand and Morty is spun around to face the other Rick. Two hands press hard into his shoulders. Morty shrinks under his gaze.

“You honestly think I—“ Rick stops, growling to himself, “You don’t get to...” he stops again. He breathes in, breathes out.

Beside them, grandpa Rick lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Jesus, this isn’t even worth it.” He flings his hands up and strides through the portal. “Come join me when you’re done bitching at each other. Portal ain’t gonna stay open forever.”

If Morty had thought having the older and younger versions of Rick in the same room together was bad, he was wrong. Being left alone with the young Rick after a revelation was much, much worse. He wasn’t sure if this was a conversation he wants to have. He looks at the green light of the portal and whines.

But Rick’s hands hold him steadily in place. Several times Rick opens his mouth as if to say something but nothing comes out. Eventually, he lets go of Morty and rubs a hand over his face. He turns to stare at something far off in the corner, thoughts scattered across his mind.

Tension grows in Morty’s form. He opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what, when Rick beats him to it.

“I knew.” He says through the cracks in his fingers over his mouth. “I mean, I didn’t _know_ , know. But I saw the photos on your phone.”

Morty tenses. Shit. His _phone_. Of course. Rick had fiddled with his phone for hours that first day. He must have comes across the pictures in Morty’s gallery at some point. It seemed so obvious now.

“I wasn’t entirely sure what our relationship was, but there was a lot of pictures with you and me. God, I looked fucking old in them.” Rick offers a shaky smile. “I thought, ‘why the hell does this kid hang out with a wrinkly bag of shit?’”

Morty doesn’t smile back. If Rick was trying to lighten the mood he wasn’t succeeding. He feels trapped. And he wants to go home. He wants to curl up under his covers and pretend he doesn’t exist.

“Not much of a family resemblance is there?” Rick shifts, running a hand through his messy hair. He touches something wet and pulls back, mildly disgusted when he finds something green coating his fingers. He wipes it off on his sweatpants.

“I didn’t...I didn’t m-mean to!” Fat tears run down Morty’s cheeks. “You were just so nice—I mean I—and y-y-you always shared your cheetos with me! And—and—and...”

Rick feels like a rug has been swept out from under him. He’s never seen Morty cry. Not like this. 

_“Please don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me. Pleasedon’thateme.”_

Morty buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking violently. Rick wants to reach out, but he doesn’t know how. Not anymore.

Morty hiccups as he pleads desperately over and over for Rick not to hate him. But Rick cannot even fathom what hating Morty could even feel like. He can’t even imagine what his world would be like without this adorably awkward teenager smiling brightly at him every day. Of course he doesn’t hate him. 

“I don’t hate you.” He says softly. 

He’s unused to this. He’s never comforted anyone before. He’s not sure he knows how to.

The words don’t make Morty stop crying, but it does succeed in getting him to look up. His eyes puffy and red. Coupled with his hair and ripped clothing, he looks like a homeless beggar.

“It’s not your fault.” Rick offers quietly. 

It all made sense suddenly. All the times Morty hesitated around him, all the times he looked uncomfortable, all the times he pulled away...and yet Rick had pushed back. Not a whole lot, but just enough to where he could create a tear in Morty’s defenses. He’d prodded and poked and made the teen let him in more. Rick felt like an asshole. Ford was right. He should’ve kept his hands to himself.

Morty lowers his eyes. There’s nothing he can say to make this better. To make this right. After all, it wasn’t like he’d ever intended to stay.

Rick reaches up, almost unconsciously, and hovers his hand above Morty’s head. One last pat. One last stroke of his boyish curls. But common sense returns to him, and Rick’s hand falls. He turns towards the exit. 

“See you around, Morty.” Lie. “You can keep the clothes.”

Each step physically hurts. Everything felt so wrong he’s no idea if he’s ever going to feel right again. Rick was used to walking away from people. It came easy to him. But this didn’t feel like walking away. This felt like falling apart.

He’s reaching for the door when something crashes into his back. Startled, Rick throws his hands out to keep from smashing into the wall. 

“M-morty?”

Small hands clutch at his sides, bunching up his shirt and Rick swears he can’t breathe. Morty’s nose rubs against his spine, searching for warmth. The air is thick, as if waiting for someone to break the silence. Rick’s tongue feels heavy with things unsaid. He sighs. He relaxes. 

Morty shakes as he holds onto Rick’s back. There are so many things he wants to say. But he can’t find words for any of them. 

_I don’t want to go._

_I’m sorry I hurt you._

_I want you. Always._

Rick’s fingers find his and lace through his hands. They don’t stay like that for long. The portal sparks behind them, and Morty knows it’s time to go.

Giving Rick one last squeeze, Morty finally steps away. Rick doesn’t turn around to watch him leave. And Morty doesn’t say goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: chapter two is on its way but its giving me trouble as I've run into a road block. but i promise I'll get it out at some point!
> 
> (fic title is taken from the song Jump Into the Fog by The Wombats in case anyone is wondering)


	2. the middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had this whole thing planned out and suddenly I decided to change the ending because I was unhappy with it. Then it kept getting longer and longer and I had to split this thing up into two chapters so now there's three in all. Also, there's 70% more angst than I intended and I apologize. Believe me this hurts me as much as it does you.
> 
> BTW: I made a mistake in the first chapter. I may have implied in the beginning that Morty was 14 but that was a typo. He is actually 17. I’ve fixed it now so sorry for any confusion I may have caused.

“Summer, could you go get your brother please?”

Summer tics away at her cell phone, trying to decide on the kind of emoticon she wants to send next. She pauses and spares her mother a glance.

“Why? I’m sure he’ll come down when he’s ready.”

Morty had become a bit of a hermit lately. He never really came out of his room unless Rick was dragging him out on another errand into outer space. He usually just snuck a dinner plate back up to his bedroom and ate in the dark. It was getting weird to be honest.

Beth sighs. “Because dinner is practically done and I want everyone at the table when I bring it out. Is it so wrong to want to eat together with my family?”

Summer shrugs. “So then yell at him to come down.”

At this Beth puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes. Uh-oh. It was the Mother Look.

“Did you slave away for hours making this nice Thanksgiving dinner?”

Summer shrinks. “Uh...”

“Then _go get your brother_!”

“Okay, okay!” Summer escapes from the kitchen and up the stairs. God, she did not miss living here. College dorm life went pretty well for her. She liked her university and she’d already made lots of friends. Except Monica. That bitch was going around telling everyone that she saw Summer and George sneak off together at a party. Which they did _not_ because Monica was a lying whore. After some damage control within her group of friends, Summer had set off to angrily search through Monica’s profile looking for some dirt to get her back with.

She reaches Morty’s bedroom and pushes the door open with her shoulder, not even bothering to look up. 

“Hey, Mom says it’s time to come down for—“

_Sniffle._

_Sniffle._

She stops, finally looking away from her phone. Morty sat at his desk, his back turned, hunched over himself. From her spot by the door, she can see his shoulders shaking with quiet restraint. She doesn’t have to think twice about what, or who, he’s crying about.

Cautiously, she enters the room. They’ve never had a particularly strong bond between them. Morty wasn’t always a good brother, and she wasn’t always the best sister, but it still hurt to see him like this. 

“Morty?”

Morty starts, jolting up from his chair. He twists around to face her with wild eyes. His hands fly behind him to grip the desk’s edge as if he’ll fall without the support. 

“S-summer?” Morty furiously wipes his face. “Uh, what, uh w-why are you in my room?”

Summer tries not to approach him any further. Morty was an open book about everything, but when it came to Rick it was as though he was a scared animal. He would close up at the slightest mention or run at tiniest movement. She had to be careful about this. 

“Mom said dinner was gonna be ready soon.”

“Oh, okay.” Morty’s eyes are red around the rims. “T-tell her I’ll be down in a minute.”

Summer nods, but she doesn’t move. Everyone had taken Rick’s subsequent death and reassignment differently. Their mother had been hysterical those first weeks. But then one day she just...faded. Like the colors in an old shirt. About a year later, Morty came home with a new Rick and announced he’d been assigned to him. The new Rick would be living with them now. Beth had acted like her father’s death had never happened; believing the new Rick to be the real one having returned home after traveling for a year. No one had the heart to shatter her fantasy. 

Summer, well, it had been hard. But moving away to college had helped. Getting out of the house and surrounding herself with peers and friends took her mind off things at home. It had been weird but it made her mother happy, so she was happy. 

But Morty? Summer still remembers how eerily quiet he’d become. He wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep, he refused to go to school. When they tried to reach out as a family and help he’d shouted at them, even getting physical. Summer remembered the terrible fight he had with Dad. Morty screamed over and over how Jerry had never even cared for Rick so why should he even bother to pretend he understood what his son was going through? Jerry couldn’t look anyone in the eyes for days.

Summer had hoped the reassigned would help him move on. And whenever she came home for breaks or the holidays he seemed to be doing better. But perhaps she just didn’t want to bother looking past the surface. Because now that she’s here, now that she sees Morty, it’s clear he wasn’t doing better at all. She feels like a failure as a sister.

“Are you okay?” She almost hates herself the moment she asks. It was the Standard Question. The one people asked if they didn’t actually care and were only trying to make it seem like they did. 

“I’m fine.” Morty’s response is automatic. 

“How’s everything going with—with Rick?” From what she could tell, this Rick seemed identical to the one they had. Though she hadn’t spent much time with him since she didn’t live here anymore. He never invited her on any adventures, and she didn’t ask. She didn’t really know anything about him.

“It’s...it’s good.” His voice cracks on the word and Morty struggles to backtrack. “I, uh, I mean we still go on adventures and everything.”

“That’s good.” She feels useless. What could she do anyways? 

“Yeah, R-rick lets me drive the ship now. He’s—uh, it’s usually because he passes out from drinking though.”

“Sounds just like him.” Summer offers a smile.

Morty doesn’t return it. “He doesn’t like to go to Blips and Chitz.” He admits quietly. Like it’s a secret. “He says it’s a waste of time.” 

Summer waits for him to continue. She stands patiently still, waiting for him to gather himself.

Morty sucks in a breath, almost as if in pain. “He doesn’t l-like to go out for ice cream either. He hates it.” The redness doubles in Morty’s eyes and he looks like he’s about to break. “He doesn’t ruffle my hair, or tell me good job, or—or—“

Morty’s body crumples over and Summer races to catch him. When he doesn’t shy away from her touch, Summer hugs him tight against her chest. Morty cries into her shoulder.

“I just miss him _so much_.”

“I know.” Summer strokes her brother’s hair as he shakes in her hold. “I know.”

In all the infinite timelines in all the infinite dimensions, there were an infinite number of Ricks and Mortys. Same faces, same voices, same posture, and even the same clothes. But this dimension’s Rick, C-622, was gone. And Morty was lost without him.

Summer squeezes him tight, shushing him gently as they stand there in the middle of the room. Looks like Thanksgiving dinner was going to have to wait a bit. It was fine. Summer didn’t really feel like sitting at a table with all her crazy relatives anyway. 

“When did you get taller than me?” Summer whispers jokingly. “You were always so small.”

Morty half laughs half sobs into her shoulder. She pats him gently on the back. She wants to tell him it’ll be okay. That it’ll eventually stop hurting so much, but she doesn’t want to lie. 

Behind him, Morty’s phone blinks awake on the desk. Peering over his shoulder she can see the phone’s background. It was one of Rick and Morty. Well, a younger Rick anyway. He had his arm around Morty and they were smiling wide at the camera and laughing. She can’t help but smile too. They had been so close to each other. She’d been jealous once upon a time, but that was before.

The hug dissolves and Morty pulls away to wipe at his eyes. She can tell from his stance he’s a bit embarrassed. She clears her throat, grasping at a new subject to break the awkwardness.

“So, um, you didn’t tell me Rick had tried cloning himself again.” The _‘before he died’_ part went unsaid.

“Hmm?” Morty looks up.

Summer reaches for Morty’s phone and holds it up. “That’s him right? In another clone body? You guys look like you were having a blast.”

But Morty has gone unnervingly stiff. His fingers twitch as if they mean to snatch the phone away from her. 

“That’s not—that’s...”

Summer furrows her brows. Sensing something wrong, she looks down at the picture again. They looked happy in this photo, nothing out of place. Morty was even—she stops. _Morty_. Her eyes widen as she catches it. Summer had assumed it was an older photo. From before Rick’s death. But Morty would’ve been younger in the picture if that were true. This looked as if it could have been taken yesterday.

Summer looks up from the phone at her brother. He doesn’t look back. For 3 years Summer has never seen her brother so much as crack a smile. And yet this photo...

“Who is this?” She asks softly, intuition telling her that it wasn’t the Rick her brother was currently assigned to.

Morty visibly swallows, a dark sadness taking over his features. Something isn’t right here. 

“A couple months ago Rick and I were...separated.” Morty winces at something unspoken. “I accidently took the wrong portal and ended up in a dimension where Rick was in college and I had to stay with him for a week until my...u-until the other Rick came to get me.”

Summer blinks. She looks back down at the photo. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“So...so how was it?”

Morty grows uncomfortable and Summer can sense him closing himself up again. Just like old times. Never letting anyone in. Never telling anyone what was wrong.

“It was fine.”

A frown tugs at Summer’s lips. She knows she’s missing something here. She stares back down at the phone. They looked like they were at a game of some kind. Probably football. They were seated on the bleachers, the people behind them had painted faces and were screaming into the void. Rick held up the camera, a sly smirk on his face, as Morty leaned into him smiling for all he was worth.

Something clicks and she understands. She may not know a lot about Morty’s time with whoever this Rick was, but she can put two and two together well enough. The reason why Morty was so miserable with his new reassignment. Why he wasn’t himself anymore, and hadn’t been for a long time. Morty didn’t need a _replacement_. He just needed a _friend_. Grandpa Rick had been Morty’s only real friend in life. When he died it left a hole that, unlike Summer, he was unable to refill. But this picture, Morty looked alive again. He looked happy. Like he could breathe again.

“Have you seen him again at all?”

Morty shakes his head, eyes lowered at the ground. “I can’t. He’s not—I have to stay here. I don’t belong in that dimension.”

Summer puts the phone back down on the desk. She thinks about her next words carefully. 

“Have you thought about requesting for reassignment again?”

Morty jerks as if she’d slapped him. “It...it doesn’t work like that. Ricks don’t get a Morty until they’re older. That Rick is—h-he’s too young to be considered for the program.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense.” 

Morty had told her about the Council of Ricks before. She’d never seen it in life but she can imagine it. He’d once explained to her the complexities of how it worked. Ricks whose Mortys had died, or Mortys whose Ricks had died, would be added to a list for Reassignment. Once a compatible Rick or Morty became available, they would get assigned to each other. There was always the one outlier Rick in the program who never had kids and thereby never had a Morty. But that was strictly reserved for older Ricks. Ones who had had a chance to have kids but failed to. 

“You know you don’t have to go on adventures with Rick if you don’t want to, right?” Summer leans in. 

The reassignment Rick clearly wasn’t working out. And it wasn’t like anyone was making Morty go on these adventures with him. 

“I know.” He looks defeated as he says it. 

Summer reaches out, slowly cupping Morty’s upper arm. “You’ll be turning 18 soon.” She says. “You don’t have to live here anymore. You can move wherever you what.”

At this, finally, Morty looks up. “What are you saying?”

Summer takes a breath. She needs to get this right. Needs him to understand. 

“Are you really okay with the Council telling you where you can or can’t live? With which Ricks you’re allowed to interact with?” 

Morty’s brows furrow. “But...but I’ve never hopped dimensions—I m-mean moved dimensions before—“

“But it’s been done before, right?”

Morty blinks, thinking for a moment, then nods. “Yes. But I don’t think I’m supposed to without permission. You have to alert the Council which dimension you want to move to and then they file your request and then—“

“Morty!” 

Summer takes each other her brother’s shoulders in hand and holds him steady. “Why are you letting them rule your life? If you’re not happy here then move. No one’s stopping you.”

“But what about—“

Summer shakes her head. “We’ll be fine. Don’t stay here for us, Morty. We just want you to be happy. We all do.”

Morty grows quiet, his form relaxing under her hands. Then, without warning, Morty wraps his arms around Summer and crushes her against his chest. 

_“Thank you.”_ He whispers. _“Thank you.”_

Summer’s eyes slip closed and she smiles as she lets her brother hug her. “You’re welcome.”

“KIDS GET DOWN HERE! THE TURKEY’S GETTING COLD!”

They break apart at the sudden interruption. Morty smiles nervously at her, she smiles back. 

“Guess we better head down, huh?” He says.

Summer nods. “Right.”

They turn to leave the room together. As they head down the stairs she bumps his shoulder with hers. 

“Be sure to let me know when you’re moving. And don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye!”

Morty laughs, a sound she hasn’t heard in years. “Sure thing.”

-

It takes a little bit of convincing. Rick doesn’t want to be bothered with the whole thing, but even he can see how unruly Morty would become if he doesn’t agree to it. So he shrugs and burps out a ‘whatever’ and files a death certificate for one Morty of C-622. With Morty being officially dead, he’ll be free to hop dimensions without the Council butting their noses in. And Rick will be free to file for a new Morty without suspicion. 

They have to wait for the paperwork to go through. And given that it was Ricks they were talking about, it took several long excruciating months. Morty can’t imagine what an office full of Ricks looked like. They probably worked 3 hours a day and slacked off the entire time. 

But towards Spring that following year, Rick finally receives confirmation of Morty’s Certificate of Death. Morty immediately starts putting his plans into motion. He alerts Summer so she can come down and attend the going away party Beth and Jerry want to throw him. He doesn’t need to pack though. He already knows what he’s taking. He’s been ready for this for months.

The knowledge that he’d be living in a world without cell phones or internet was more than a little jarring, so Morty had been dedicating more hours than usual to his xbox360, laptop, and any electrical device that he wouldn’t have access to once he moved.

The idea struck him one day watching TV to just simply ask Rick if he could make him an interdimensional cable box. However, it was easier said than done as Rick blatantly refused. The crystal that powered the cable box was actually quite rare and it was the only one in Rick’s current possession.

Unwilling to give up, Morty had pestered Rick over and over. Surely he could steal more (“Ha! You’d need a-a whole goddamn army for that Morty!”). Or maybe buy one off the space black market (“Jesus, Morty how much do think these things cost?”). 

The old Rick would have given in to Morty’s pleading within the day. He’d always been a bit soft when it came to his grandson. But this Rick had taken six weeks straight. It happened over breakfast, when Morty was subtly talking about his favorite TV shows and mentioning once or twice how much he’d miss being able to watch them. Rick had grabbed the edge of the table, screeching loudly as he flipped it over and stomped off towards the garage. With plates and food scattered all over the floor, Morty dared not mention it after that. Thinking that it was time to throw in the towel. Rick would never give him the cable box.

Nine hours later Rick came up to Morty’s room, carrying a small wrapped box and shoving it into Morty’s confused hands.

“It’s your g-going away present.” Rick glared as Morty tore away the wrapping paper to find the interdimensional cable box from the living room. “You better stop—y-you better stop fucking whining from now on.”

Morty beamed back. Truly happy. “Thanks Rick!”

Rick frowned. “This—this—this thing is powered by rarest crystal in the galaxy, Morty! The entire galaxy! The planet they were mined from was completely destroyed in a civil war over these things! A lot of species died out fighting for control of the planet and the industry! This is worth more than all the inventions I’ve ever created! Do you understand, Morty? _Do_ you?”

Morty nodded. It had taken Rick a long time to give in. The crystal powering the device was probably the only one Rick had ever, would ever, own. And he’d given it to a Morty.

Morty’s hands wrapped around the metal box and he hugged it to his chest. 

“Thanks, Rick.” He said again. But it was quieter this time. More sincere.

Rick scratched his face, angrily shifting his eyes. “Whatever, you little turd.”

He turned to go but Morty called out. Rick looked back expectantly. Morty swallowed, trying not to feel so small.

“I...I know we never had the best relationship. I wasn’t the best Morty for you and you weren’t exactly the best Rick for me...”

“Blame that one on the Council.” Rick took a swig of his flask. “The Reassignment Department’s got all their heads up their asses. Don’t know what the fuck they’re doing anymore.”

“But if it’s all the same, I’m still glad to have met you.” Morty smiled softly. For all of the times they’d clashed since first meeting each other, Morty knew that Rick had tried in his own way. “I hope your next Morty works out.”

Rick huffed and stalked out the door. But Morty smiled all the same.

In the end, everything had gone smoothly towards the move. Packing was incredibly easy. Morty had only packed a few shirts and jeans leaving the rest of the space for various memorabilia and the cable box. He packed his posters, some board games, his Ball Fondlers action figures, etc. He was surprised to find that he managed to fit all of his stuff into 2 large duffle bags and his backpack. He was just glad he wasn’t that big on fashion. He’d seen Summer pack before when she moved to college. 3 bags would have been dedicated to t-shirts alone. Not including jeans or underwear. 

The weeks fly by in no time and soon it’s the day Morty’s last 24 hours in dimension C-622. Beth gives him more hugs than usual, making sure to cook all his favorite things. Jerry keeps trying to schedule father and son bonding time, and although playing catch isn’t really his thing, Morty doesn’t mind spending time with his Dad for one last round.

Morty still can’t believe they ever agreed to it. He never would have convinced them to let him go if it hadn’t been for Summer. Brave, strong Summer who had viciously argued for her brother’s happiness while Morty was pretending to be out but was actually eavesdropping in on the conversation. She’d pushed their mom and dad that Morty wasn’t getting better. And that he’d never get better if they forced him to stay there. Morty was glad he hadn’t been in the room when Summer had said those words. He’d teared up embarrassingly fast and had had to flee to the bathroom. 

Morty was going to miss her so much.

“Hey Summer?”

“Yeah?” She lifts her head higher, indicating that she’d heard him but keeps her eyes on the road.

“Could we stop somewhere first before we get back? There’s something I wanna do.”

“Sure.”

Morty directs her through town, towards a very familiar spot in a very familiar cemetery.

“Do you want me to wait in the car?” She asks quietly. 

Morty swallows. “Y-yeah.”

She nods, watching Morty in silence as he opens the door and heads off towards their grandfather’s gravestone. 

It had been a long time since Morty last walked this path. Days and months and years now. But it feels like an old, well ridden bicycle. His feet know the way even if his heart does not.

Morty stares at the gray rock that sits above the body of his grandfather’s rotting corpse. Beneath this particular patch dirt and grass, Rick lay buried. His Rick. 

He stares at the words etched into the stone and gives a half smile. It really didn’t suit the man. 

_Rick Sanchez_  
_Loving father and grandfather_

Morty knows without a doubt Rick probably would have preferred to be cremated. Going into the ground seemed so final. So inevitable.

The last time Morty was here is a vivid blur. Anger. Sadness. Betrayal. He’d screamed until his throat was sore. And then when his voice gave out, he pounded the ground and demanded that Rick come back. Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Rick had promised him forever. 

But this time there are no tears or screaming. Morty doesn’t plead or beg for Rick to claw his way up out of the mud. He stands there, quiet, and feels the earth underneath him. It was hard to imagine his life without Rick by his side. He'd always been surrounded by the man. Rick had been a predictable, if not crazy, constant in Morty's life. So when he suddenly wasn't there anymore it set Morty's entire world off balance.

And he wonders, not for the first time, if Rick would be ashamed of him. It was one thing to be reassigned to another Rick, it was another to fall in love with a young version of him. 

“I miss you.” Morty breathes, scared his voice will suddenly fail him.

His throat feels constricted, like the tie he’d worn to Rick’s funeral. Jerry had had to help him tie it, his hands had shaken too much to be of any use.

 _‘Too tight?’_ his father had asked him. It was cutting off his circulation, but Morty had nodded anyway. It wasn’t like he could tell much of a difference. He couldn’t breathe without Rick. 

Morty sucks in a shaky breath, feeling the air hit his lungs like a punch to his gut. He needs to get this out. He needs to say it.

“I’m...I’m leaving.” Morty’s licks his dry lips. “I’m not coming back.”

He would never stand on this ground again. Never visit Rick’s grave. He’d never get to ask for forgiveness.

“Summer—everyone—wants me to be happy. And I think I found a way to be.”

That’s right. For as much as he missed his grandfather, he missed the other Rick a lot too. Terrifyingly so. He’d been scared and guilty the days he fell asleep missing someone other than his grandpa. It felt like a betrayal. 

“I know you don’t believe in an afterlife,” and Morty wasn’t sure if he did either, “but I hope you’re doing well. Wherever you are.”

Rick’s grave is so plain. So empty looking. Should he have brought flowers? A gift of some kind? Morty looks around, as if that will somehow produce something out of thin air. But there was nothing. Rick would probably hate the idea of flowers anyway. He’d never been the most conventional man. 

Morty steps closer and reaches out to brush his fingers over the headstone. 

“Goodbye.” He whispers.

The way back takes longer. Morty keeps wanting to look back, one last time, just in case. But in case of what he doesn’t know. He’s long since come to terms with the fact Rick isn’t going to magically pop up out of the ground and shake off the dirt like it was nothing.

Summer, thankfully, doesn’t say anything when he makes it back. They drive in blissful silence back through town. Morty looks at the shops and stores and buildings. He’s not going to miss this place. He’s not going to miss his classmates either. He has no friends to say goodbye to here. Morty glances back at Summer. But he will miss his family.

The party is short but sweet. Jerry fires up the grill out back and attempts to make burgers, and when he fails, Rick pushes him aside. And then when Beth catches Rick adding mysterious alien substances to the meat she pushes him aside as well and takes over the task of feeding the family.

Summer is tasked with the job of taking lots of pictures. Beth insists on at least 3 family photos. Morty is all too happy to oblige.

Evening falls and it’s time for Morty to go collect his bags. When he comes back downstairs his mother is already crying. He opens his arms and she falls against his chest.

“Don’t you dare go and replace me with a new Beth over there.” She says hotly, wiping her tears away with a determined hand.

Morty grins. “You don’t have to worry about that Mom, trust me. You haven’t even been born yet in that timeline.”

Jerry claps him on the back and tries and fails to give him some fatherly advice on life. 

“Son, when life give you lemons, you gotta make lemonade. You have to add in sugar, stir it really well, and then you have to market that lemonade. You have to advertise that lemonade so people will buy it and then until you become successful and rich and win an advertising award.”

Morty blinks, realizing Jerry probably wanted him to say something back. “Uh, thanks Dad.”

Jerry nods, grinning triumphantly. “Anytime son.”

When he gets to Summer she hugs him extra tight. Morty feels their parents looking at them but ignores the tiny tendrils of embarrassment that try to sprout up. But this is the last time he’ll ever see her. He’s not popping out for vacation in an alternate dimension, he’s never coming back. And after realizing that it’s not so awkward anymore and Morty hugs her back just as hard.

“Be happy.” She whispers into his ear.

The lump in his throat grows so fast that Morty is unable to stop from tearing up. He settles for nodding shakily, embarrassed by his sudden emotional state.

Rick doesn’t hug him. He gives a solemn nod which Morty returns. They’d already made their peace with one another. They don’t need to say anything more. Nevertheless, Morty still gives him a tiny ‘thank you’ which Rick may or may not have acknowledged.

Morty takes a deep breath as Rick pulls out the portal gun. He closes his eyes and grips his bags in hand. This was it. This was it.

When he opens them, the portal is before him, its green swirls beckoning him inside. He looks back at his family, looks at their faces and traces the edges. He commits them to memory. Their smiles. Their smell. Their clothes. 

He smiles. He waves. Then he steps into the light.

Excitement is the first thing that hits him when he comes out the other side. Nervousness comes next. The green light grows smaller and smaller and it disappears behind him until Morty is left standing in an empty hallway. Morty stands still for a moment, heart racing. He’s not looking back anymore. His family had been behind him, but now Rick lay ahead. What should he even say to Rick? Would he be happy to see him? Would he be angry? Confused?

For all his planning Morty hadn’t actually gotten very far into figuring out how his reunion with Rick was going to go. He had lots of ideas of how it could go, but none of them really involved speaking so much as it did with physical contact.

Morty steadies himself. Heart beginning to race. He takes a deep breath in and slowly lets it out. He could do this. Gripping his bags tightly, and readjusting his backpack, he takes his first steps down the familiar hallway towards the door of Stanford and Rick’s dorm room. He pauses in front of the door, suddenly feeling a lot smaller and trying not to panic. It would be fine. Rick would be surprised, but happy to see him. Morty would tell him the good news, that he’d decided to stay, and everything would work out okay. But the knots in his stomach relentlessly refuse to untangle even as Morty assures himself that Rick wouldn’t turn him away. He couldn’t have changed his mind. Could he?

Curling his knuckles, Morty raps lightly on the door. He licks his lips, shifting his weight from foot to foot. As the seconds tick by his anxiety grows and Morty twists his fingers in the handles of his luggage. He can’t hear any movement behind the door. Maybe they didn’t hear him? He knocks again. 

A horrible thought occurs that they were both out (perhaps in class or eating) and Morty is stuck panicking about how long he’d have to wait until one of them returned to the room, when the door finally cracks open. The mountain of swift relief is over all too soon when the person who steps out is neither Rick nor Stanford. Confused, Morty peers over the man’s shoulders into the room, trying to see inside. He doesn’t see any scattered inventions lying around. No sign of thick chemistry books buried in mountains of papers or empty Cheetos bags. No rolling hills of dirty laundry lying around the floor. Morty frowns.

“Can I help you?” The man’s eyebrows are thick and bushy. One lifts up to disappear beneath his bangs with an air of annoyance.

“Y-yes, er, I was looking for Rick?” Morty shuffles nervously under the gaze. “Or perhaps Stanford? They live in this room?”

“Not anymore.” The guy shrugs, clearly uninterested. “People move in and out every semester, dude. I don’t keep track.”

Something black pierces through Morty’s gut. His tongue grows heavy and numb in his mouth. His bags feel like they’re weighing down on his lungs and not his shoulders. Air pushes out of him, and he can’t get it back.

The man doesn’t seem to notice his distress as he sighs in annoyance.

“Do...do you know anywhere I can find them?”

Darkness files in through his field of vision. He can’t focus. 

The man rolls his eyes. “Look man, I don’t know anything about who lived here before me. I’m kind of in the middle of something so why don’t you just—”

But Morty has stopped listening. His feet feel like stone. He can’t move through this dark, blackness stealing his insides. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

“Wait a minute,” the man says, “Did you say Rick? As in Rick Sanchez?”

The haze lifts for a moment, and Morty holds his breath. “Yes! That’s him! You know him?”

The guy smiles. “Hell yeah! Everyone knows him! Best partier in the state!”

Hope bursts in his stomach and Morty clings to it desperately. “Where is he now? Do you know where he lives?”

But the smile falls and before he even speaks, Morty feels the black returning. 

“I think he dropped out. People say he went off the deep end. Muttering weird stuff about portals and alternate dimensions or something. Started doing a lot of weird experiments around campus too.”

Something cracks and Morty thinks it’s his teeth. Everything was too blurry. The walls wouldn’t stop shaking. 

“H-hey man, you don’t look too good.”

Morty stumbles backward. He shakes his head, looking left, then right. As if doing so would make Rick appear. He’d grab Morty’s hand and laugh with him like he always did. And then they’d run off together on some crazy adventure like old times.

“Dude, do you need me to call someone or something?”

A scream erupts behind Morty’s ears and his spine snaps into place. He runs. 

The man calls out to him from the doorway but Morty is already shoving the door open to the stairwell. He sprints down the steps one at a time—down, down, down until he slips. He crumbles onto the cement like paper. He sits there, on the cold floor, breathing in heavily and sharply exhaling through his nose. His eyes grow hot and blurry. He’s drowning.

Every bone is screaming. But he doesn’t make a sound. 

Stupid. Idiot. Moron Morty. He’d gone his entire life being told how dumb he was. His teachers, his classmates, and Rick most especially. He thought he’d planned everything. But he’d overlooked the most important thing. The simplest thing. He had no way of contacting the Rick of this world. He’d no idea where he’d gone. He had no one now. He couldn’t go home. He was trapped.

Loneliness engulfs him. Why had he assumed Rick would wait around for him to come back? Of course Rick wouldn’t stay put. Morty knew how Rick was, always itching always rearing to go. And yet, for some reason, Morty had believed this time would be different. He feels utterly stupid.

Morty doesn’t know how long he stays curled up in that stairwell. By the time someone passes him on the way down, his legs are stiff and sore and his fingers feel numb. The person pointedly avoids his gaze, climbing up the steps in silence, and Morty avoids theirs as well. Moving mechanically, he picks himself up and straps on his duffle bags. 

Outside, the sun is setting over the horizon, lighting up the campus with oranges and reds. Morty’s feet move over the sidewalk in a steady unfeeling pace. He watches the other students walking towards their evening classes, but he doesn’t register them. He thinks someone may have bumped into him, but his body has gone numb. His brain has slowed down as if he’s on autopilot. 

He passes by the rec center and Rick isn’t there. He passes by food court and Rick isn’t there. He passes by the stadium and no one is there. Rick wasn’t here. He was long gone.

Moving slowly, and unfeelingly, Morty doesn’t realize where he’s going until he blinks and realizes he’s inside the science building. Oh. He’s headed towards the lab. The only lab he knows. The one he’d first gone to with Rick, Ford, and Fiddleford. 

The room is thankfully still open, though it was devoid of any students. Morty shuffles over to a corner and slides his bags down onto the floor. He leans his back against it and sinks to his knees. 

A shiver runs over him. It was slightly colder in here. Morty’s gaze wanders over the beakers and imagines Rick holding up a glass and mixing in toxic chemicals making Stanford scream with fear as he tries to wrestle the beaker out of his grasp. He imagines Fiddleford cowering and shaking in the middle, trying to be the voice of reason. He imagines the way Rick refuses to wear the proper safety gloves and goggles, saying it made him look like a ‘loser.’ Stanford then retorting he’d look like a bigger loser with half his face melted off, and Rick providing a counterpoint that something like that would be an improvement on Ford’s face.

Morty smiles at the memory. They hadn’t gotten much work done that day. Morty had sat and watched like a quiet observer. He was used to watching his grandpa work on his inventions in the garage. It provided a sense of familiar peace. It’d only made sense that he would also like to watch this group of quirky scientists (or undergraduates as they were) in their element. 

But those moments seemed so far away now. If he tries to reach out and touch them they’ll fade away before he reach them. There’s no rustle of lab coats or the squeak of rubber gloves. There is no heated bantering about the laws of physics and insults muttered under breaths. There’s just Morty and his duffle bags stuffed with everything from his past life that he had given up. He’d given it all up for nothing. 

No. For hope. He’d given it up for hope.

Morty hangs his head, looking at his hands. And there, in the stillness of the cold lab, surrounded by empty beakers, Morty lets go of the dam within himself and lets his emotions take over. He cries and cries and sobs into the spaces between his fingers. Because hope had always been an ugly thing, and Morty had always been a foolish little boy. 

-

Stanford picks up his pace. Fire burns at his lungs but he plunges onward. He can’t believe he just left his notes lying around like that! He just hoped no one had took them! Fiddleford was going to kill him if they had to rewrite everything down again! Ford could admit he could be scatterbrained at times, but he’d never just forget something this important. Maybe the upcoming finals were getting to him more than he’d thought.

He shoves his way into the lab, wildly scanning the tabletops. Come on, come on, where was it? Ford catches sight of the notebook in the far corner of the room and feels a bursting sense of relief. 

“Ah ha!”

He dashes forward to grab it off the desk. That was a close one. He opens it and flips through the pages. Just in case. You could never be too careful.

Satisfied that everything was in order, he tucks the notebook under his arm and turns to go when he hears a soft voice calling his name.

“Stanford?”

Ford pauses. He shifts. There, on the other side of the room, Morty stands up from his place in the corner. Utter disbelief colors his face. Ford is too shocked to register the redness around the boy’s eyes, or the bags by his feet.

“Morty?”

Morty steps towards him.

“Morty!”

A grin stretches across Ford’s face and he rushes forward to heartily slap Morty on the back. Morty shakes, smiling up at him in exhausted relief. 

“What brings you back here? I didn’t think you were coming back!”

Something dark shifts behind Morty’s eyes but it’s gone in a flash. 

“I—uh, I...”

Morty’s voice cracks and he turns away to cough into his fist. It’s then that Ford finally notices the younger man’s state of appearance. He eyes the duffle bags on the floor and something clicks in his mind.

Morty gives a weak smile. “Surprise.”

It sounded hollow. Ford feels the grin sliding off his face. A solemn expression replacing it. 

“It’s, um, it’s good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Morty smile seems a little more genuine. “I didn’t know where to go after I went to the dorm room. I’m just glad to see a familiar face.”

Ford nods. He wasn’t sure what to say in these sorts of awkward situations. He didn’t really know how to deal with people all that well. Fiddleford was better at picking up social ques than him.

“How have you been?” Morty starts, trying to steer the conversation away from any particular men with blue hair.

“Very well!” Ford latches onto the topic eagerly. “I actually share an apartment with Fiddleford now. I was just coming back to retrieve my notebook. You’re welcome to stay with us if you’d like.”

Morty nods, shifting his stance and trying to pretend he wasn’t about to cry.

“Okay.”

Stanford smiles gently. “Okay! Here, let me help you with your bags.”

The walk back to the car is painfully silent. Stanford is eternally grateful that his car radio still worked or it would have been an equally painful ride back to the apartment. He’s entirely stumped. He’s honestly glad to see Morty again. He was good company. Morty had a good head on him. But it was obvious that Morty had been looking for Rick when he’d come back to this world. And Ford had no idea what had happened to him. He had never even spared his ex-roommate a second thought until today. He’d been partially glad when he’d gotten back to his room one day to find all of Rick’s stuff gone. The dirty clothes, the half-finished inventions, the crumpled papers: everything gone. No word. No warning. Rick had simply disappeared. 

Rick hadn’t been the same when Morty had left. He’d stopped going out. Stopped attending class altogether. He buried his head in book after book, endlessly researching and double-checking and writing down equation after equation. Ford had never seen him so focused before. 

Loathe as he was to admit it, Rick was something of a genius. He could probably run circles around even the best of them if he ever bothered doing his homework. So it went without saying that Ford had been a little more than curious to see what Rick had been working so adamantly on after Morty had left. One peek was all it took to put the pieces together. Rick was working on a portal of his own design. 

Rick only really left the room for pee breaks and to restock on food. Ford could never get much more than a quick look at Rick’s work. And then one day, Ford had come back from class to find no one there. Maybe Rick had finished his prototype, maybe he’d left to continue his research elsewhere. The point being, he didn’t come back. And Ford had put it behind him. Rick Sanchez had never been his friend, he was more of a reluctant acquaintance if anything else and Stanford had deigned never to spare the man a thought ever again. That is, until a certain brunette showed up after months of being gone. 

Ford pulls up into the parking lot and spares a glance at Morty as he shuts off the car. 

“Well, this is us.” He says, awkwardly breaking the silence. 

Ford helps Morty get the bags out of the back and they make their way up the stairs to the second floor. Stanford fishes out a set of keys from his pocket and jiggles the lock open. The door swings open to the smell of meatballs and spaghetti. 

The scent winds through Morty’s nostrils and hits his stomach like an anvil. He’d been too preoccupied today to notice how hungry he was. His empty stomach had just blended into the emptiness of the rest of him. Like a cracked shell, he feels hollow and broken.

“Dinner will be ready in a minute!” Fiddleford calls from the kitchen, not yet noticing their guest. 

Ford sets the duffle on the floor and Morty follows suit, not quite knowing where else to put the rest of his stuff. He starts at the sudden hand on his shoulder and he looks up at Ford’s gentle smile. Morty’s lead into the kitchen where the smell of pasta intensifies. His mouth waters.

Fiddleford’s back is turned as he stirs the sauce. He’s wearing an apron with a floral print tied into a bright bow in the back. He looked completely at home amongst the small chaos of the kitchen. Morty takes in the odd knick knacks scattered around the shelves and atop the fridge. Seems like no matter where Stanford lived he stuffed his inventions in whatever corners he could find. Funny. He was so much like Rick in that aspect and yet their personalities couldn’t be more different. Morty eyes a weird-looking contraption by the microwave. He’s so busy trying to figure out what its use is that he fails to notice Fiddleford has finally turned around.

“Morty?” He blinks in stupefied awe.

Ford clears his throat. “I found him in the lab. You know, the one we usually use on campus?” 

Morty lifts a hand in an awkward wave. “Uh...hey.” 

A grin brightens Fiddleford’s face and he steps towards Morty. “Well I’ll be! I thought we’d seen the last of ya! Get on over here!”

Fiddleford opens his arms in a warm welcome and Morty gladly accepts his embrace. Between geniuses like Rick and Stanford, Fiddleford was the easiest to talk to. Ford was nice, but he often talked too fast when excited and most of it went over Morty’s head. He knew Ford never meant to, but he sometimes made Morty feel a little stupid when he couldn’t grasp a certain subject. And then you had Rick who didn’t care. Even going so far as to laugh at Morty’s inability to comprehend something as simple as quantum physics. But Fiddleford had never done that with him. Whenever they had talked, however brief their time had been together in that week so long ago now, Fiddleford always made sure that Morty was on the same page with him. His voice was slow and soothing in its subtle southern drawl. He never treated Morty like he was inferior. And that was something that was rare for Morty being constantly surrounded by people who were more intelligent than him.

Morty hugs Fiddleford’s tall, lanky frame back. 

“So how’ve you been?” Fiddleford pulls back.

Morty shrugs. “Read a book. Graduated school. Just stuff.”

“Well that’s great!” Fiddleford rests his hands on his hips. “So you popping in for a visit? How long ya staying?”

Morty tenses and ducks his head. Ford catches Morty’s sudden uncomfortable silence and steps in for him.

“It’s not a visit. He’s moving to this dimension.”

Fiddleford blinks, looking back and forth between the two. Stanford shifts, making a gesture that Morty doesn’t see. His throat closes up. He feels Fiddleford’s eyes upon him once more and suddenly very much wants to be alone.

“Oh...I see.”

Morty looks down at the tiles of the kitchen floor. Fiddleford’s shoes enter his field of vision and he notes how soft the other man’s fluffly house shoes looked. Morty was never really observant. Every teacher he’s ever had from kindergarten to 12th grade has told him so in more or less the same words. But at times like these, when Morty desperately wants to disappear, he finds himself incredibly interested in the details of his surroundings. 

The house shoes come closer and Morty feels a warm hand on his shoulder.

“You can stay here as long as you want. Okay, hun?”

Morty feels himself nod. His neck is mechanical in its movements, jerky and uncoordinated.

Something sizzles behind them and Fiddleford swivels around to the stove. “Oh, fiddlesticks! The meatballs!”

He races towards the stove to turn the heat off and lifts the pan to slide the meatballs off onto a nearby plate. As Morty watches, Ford leans over him.

“Here, I’ll show you were you’ll be sleeping.”

He leads Morty back into the living room to a moderately used couch. 

“It pulls out into a bed. But we’ll get you some better pillows and blankets tomorrow.”

Morty’s smile feels stiff. “Okay.”

“Hold on a minute!” Fiddleford flies into the living room, bustling around the coffee table and sweeping various papers and books off of it. “He’s company, Stanford! Honestly, this place is a mess!”

Flustered, he tries to tidy up as best he can but it’s a lost cause as the rest of the room is already crammed with gadgets and gizmos. Ford waves a hand.

“It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.”

“That’s still no excuse!”

Morty scratches the back of his neck. “It’s fine really. I don’t mind.”

Fiddleford eyes him for a moment before sighing. He gathers up an armful of papers anyway and puts it on an already full desk in the corner. Tidying up as best as he could, Fiddleford finally stood back and clapped. His hands.

“Alright! Who’s hungry?”

Dinner was pleasant. Morty had never gotten the chance to taste Fiddleford’s cooking before, but it honestly felt like it was melting in his mouth. The sauce danced on his tongue and tickled all the way down. It was heavenly.

After quickly brushing his teeth Morty announced he was turning in early. He pretends not to notice the meaningful looking that the two men shared. They were worried about him. 

Morty snuggles into a blanket that wasn’t his and lies back on an unfamiliar couch mattress. He can hear quiet whispers in the other room. He tries to ignore them, but he can still hear bits and pieces of hushed conversation floating through the apartment. 

Rolling onto his side, Morty unzips one of his bags and rummages around. It was dark, so he couldn’t see very well, but after a minute he successfully pulls out an old, dirtied shirt. Morty lies back down on the lumpy mattress and hugs the cloth to his face. It still smelt like him. Rick’s shirt. The one Rick had let him keep when he left. It was faint, but it was there. The scent of smoke and Cheetos. 

Morty closes his eyes, breathes it in, and imagines he’s back in Rick’s bed in the dorm. What-if’s and could-have-been’s flit through his mind. He squeezes his eyes tightly and tries to block them out. There’s a burning sensation crawling up his throat that won’t go away no matter how many times he tries to swallow it down. 

He was alone. And it was entirely his fault.

Memories come to the front of his mind unbidden. There had been many close calls, back with his grandpa, on many different adventures where Morty had thought that this was it. This was where they wouldn’t make it. There was even the rare occasion in which Rick just disappeared without him, leaving Morty to wonder where he’d gone and if he was even coming back. But Morty can remember none that were as bad as that day when he had had enough. Rick had been planning to infiltrate a gang who’d gotten a hold of some very sensitive weaponry that Rick wanted. 

Except things had gone south, as they always did, and soon the pair was predictably running for their lives. Infuriated and tired, Morty had ripped his arm out of Rick’s grip. 

_“No! No more, Rick!”_

_“Stop being a p-puUUUussy, Morty!”_

_“No! I’m done! I’m done with all of this bullshit! Take me home!”_

_Rick glared. He rolled his eyes and pulled out his gun to open up a portal beside Morty._

_“You wanna leave? Be my guest. Least I won’t have to listen to your bitching anymore.”_

_Morty stared at the portal. Then back at Rick, who raised an eyebrow as if calling Morty’s bluff. But Morty squared his shoulders and walked towards the portal anyway._

_“F-fuck you, Rick!”_

He made the mistake of giving one last glance back at Rick. He had expected Rick to look annoyed or relieved or apathetic or _something_. But Morty saw nothing expect hurt and betrayal on his grandfather’s face. 

The portal closed up behind him. And Morty was alone.

One week passed. Two weeks. Then three had gone by. Rick still hadn’t come home.

Then one night, desperate and lonely, Morty padded out of his room across the hall to stand in front of the door to Rick’s room. Morty had hardly been inside it. Rick spent most of his time in the garage and thereby Morty did too. His room seemed more private somehow. More intimate. 

Quietly, softly, Morty reached out a hand, and holding his breath, pushed open the door. It was dark. Knick knacks and strange metal devices covered the shelves, stuffed in every nook and cranny. But Morty ignored them. He curled up on the bed, upon the questionably stained sheets and alcohol-smelling blankets. He buried his nose in Rick’s pillow and breathed _in_.

Back in the apartment, in a strange dimension not his own, Morty is once again burrito’d in Rick’s scent. Except this time Rick doesn’t stumble home at a late hour in the night. He doesn’t walk up the stairs and to his room to find Morty already lying there. He doesn’t grumble at his grandson and shove him over to the wall to make space for himself as he flops down onto the bed with him. And Morty doesn’t squeak at being rudely awoken and sit up wide-eyed to find Rick had come home. Morty doesn’t get to fall against his grandpa’s chest and cry and cry and _cry_. He doesn’t get to tell him how sorry he is. How he’ll never abandon Rick ever again so please don’t leave him alone anymore.

He doesn’t get to do any of those things. Because Rick wasn’t here. And he wasn’t coming back.

-

Soft fingers run through his hair. Morty turns into the hand searching for more warmth. Sleep fades as he returns to the land of the living and he mumbles sleepily. The hand retreats and his mind reaches out after it.

“Mmmm...Rick?”

His eyelids are heavy as he tries to push them open. Light shines in through the living room curtains, illuminating a figure through the fuzzy haze of sleep.

“Sorry, just me.” Fiddleford pulls back as he stands over him.

Morty looks around the room. His eyes still trying to adjust to the light. He rubs them tiredly. 

“What time is it?”

“It’s 7am. I have a morning class soon. Ford is already gone.” 

Morty yawns. Turning his cheek back against his pillow. Back into the sheets. Back to his dreams where things hurt a little less.

“I was going to make some breakfast. Did you want anything?”

Morty hums and shakes his head. He did feel a little hungry, but he was afraid that he would only puke it up later. His stomach had been twisting and turning all night.

“Alright. Well, I’m here if you need me.”

Morty hears shuffling around the next room as Fiddleford rustles through the kitchen cabinets. He relaxes back into the mattress and rolls onto his side. 

The hushed tones of concern exchanged between Fiddleford and Stanford last night come rushing back. He can still hear them whispering about what to do with him and what was going to happen. Ford hadn’t seen Rick in months. Not since he up and left. What if he never came back? It wasn’t like Morty had a way to get back to his ho—his other dimension (Not home. It wasn’t home. Home was with Rick). Morty could probably crash on the couch for a while, but it didn’t feel right taking advantage of Ford’s and Fiddleford’s kindness. But where else could he possibly go? He felt stranded here. He was lost without Rick to ground him.

Fiddleford finishes making his breakfast sandwich and wraps it up to go. Morty listens for the click of the front door and breathes when he’s gone. 

-

Around 1pm the blankets start to suffocate him and he can’t stay in bed any longer. Morty’s joints groan in protest as he inches off the bed bit by bit. His toes curl unpleasantly as they touch down on the floor. He wants to snuggle back under the covers where it’s warm, but his bladder has started to pulsate and he doesn’t think he can ignore it any longer. 

Blinking away the sleep, he tries to remember which side of the hallway the bathroom was on and stumbles in. After taking his morning piss, he trails back into the living room and heads straight for the kitchen. There’s a note hanging on the fridge door by a sunflower magnet. Morty squints at it until the letters untangle themselves to make sense.

_There’s leftover spaghetti in the fridge if you’re hungry so please help yourself! I’ll be back later tonight. –Fiddleford_

As if on que, Morty’s stomach gurgles. It was probably high time he ate something anyway. The queasiness from earlier still hasn’t left yet, but he thinks he has a better chance of keeping it down now. 

He finds the spaghetti, sauce, and meatball containers and takes all three of them out of the fridge to put them on the counter. Not knowing which cabinet contained the plates, he opens four of them before successfully locating them. He reaches for a clean fork in the drying rack by the sink and methodically builds his plate of pasta. Popping it into the microwave for a few minutes, he then carefully takes the hot plate out and sets it down on the table. 

Morty sits in his chair silently eating his re-heated meal. He swallows mouthfuls of food, but it doesn’t fill him up. He still feels empty. He can feel the noodles hit the bottom of his belly. It clangs inside him. Morty clenches his hands. His fingers feel hollow. 

His breathing shakes and he drops his fork onto his plate. He leans against the wooden seat, feeling it dig into his back. He puts his hands up on the table and spreads his fingers. Feels the smooth, cool wood beneath them. Morty flickers his gaze up. Wide, white circles painted into ceiling. He breathes in and the walls breathe with him.

Morty jerks up out of his seat. He needed to go for a walk.

He hastily changes out of his pajamas into a plain t-shirt and jeans. He takes his phone too out of habit and hurries out the door. He’s made it several blocks before realizing he doesn’t have a key to get back into the apartment. Fiddleford wouldn’t be back until later that night, and he’s no idea when Ford would be home. 

Morty wanders around and manages to find a park. He strolls along the path, thinking about nothing, or trying very hard to. He sits on a bench. Watches the ducks by the pond. Goes for a round on the swing set. Maybe he should look for any ‘help wanted’ signs on his way back to the apartment.

Morty rubs his face in his hands. Time to go. 

Ford isn’t home when Morty gets back. He slides to the ground and sits crossed legged with his back against the door. He pulls out his phone to flick through his game apps. Rick had beaten all his previous top scores. It was sort of infuriating. Rick had always been better at video games than him. He constantly lorded the fact over him whenever they went to Blips and Chitz. 

Morty stares at his phone. Rick grins up at him from the background photo and his gut twists. He really ought to change it to something else.

An hour later Morty is dozing off when he hears Ford coming up the stairs. 

“Morty?”

He’s immediately up off the floor. “H-hey, uh, I didn’t have a key.” He explains sheepishly. “I kinda locked myself out.”

Stanford looks apologetic. “Crap, I forgot to give you a set! Don’t worry, I’ll have one made for you tomorrow!”

Morty shrugs. “It’s fine. I needed some air anyway.”

Ford lets them inside and Morty goes straight for the bathroom. He needs a shower.

“Is it alright if I use your shampoo?”

“Of course! Help yourself, Morty!”

 _Help yourself._ That was all he seemed to be doing ever since he got here. 

Morty nods in thanks and turns to the bathroom. He takes a long, nice shower. He turns the heat up so hot his skin turns red. He wants to feel this. He wants to make sure he can still feel anything at all.

Ford has already made a nest for himself by the time Morty gets out. He sits in the armchair across the couch surrounded by papers and open books. Something metal with wires sticking out every which way rests in his hand as he fiddles at it with a screwdriver. He seems incredibly focused. Morty quietly pads over to the window, careful not to disturb him. He slides back the door leading to the balcony and steps out. The sun has already set. Morty shivers at the chill his wet hair sends down his back. He leans against the railing and sighs. 

There’s nothing but the sounds of cars passing in the street below and the scrap of a pencil against paper inside the apartment as Ford records his progress. Morty stands there until his feet turn numb to match the rest of him.

“Hey Ford?”

“Yeah?” Ford doesn’t look up and Morty suspects he’s only answered him out of pure reflex.

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

The scribbling stops. The pencil stills in Stanford’s hand as he finally looks up from his work. Morty stares back, something akin to fear on his face. 

“I don’t know.” He says honestly. The truth hurts, it always hurt, but a lie would only make it worse. And Stanford doesn’t want to lie. “Ever since you left he’d...he’d changed. He seemed, well, less there.”

Ford drops his pencil and leans back in his chair, thinking back at how hollow Rick had looked in the passing weeks after Morty returned to his home world. 

“All I really know before he disappeared is that he was working on a prototype portal gun. He became obsessed with it. I don’t know if he finished it or not.”

The thought that Rick may have finished his portal gun in record time before Ford even completed the blueprints to his is a massive wound to his pride. If only for that, Ford sincerely hopes the other man failed. Rick hardly deserved the title of a scientist. The man was a slacker and indecent at the best of times. But then Ford sees Morty’s shoulders tense and stiffen. And he knows the teen is hoping for the same thing he is. But for very different reasons. 

He wants to say something comforting. But he can’t seem to think of anything. He wishes briefly that Fiddleford was here. This was his department.

“I messed up.” Morty’s voice is quiet. He turns to look back out at the darkened sky. “I never should have come back here in the first place.”

Stanford swallows. He’s uncomfortable with emotional stuff. The only other person besides Fiddleford who he truly felt at ease with had been his brother. But that ship had long sailed. He hasn’t spoken to him in years. 

Ford didn’t know what sort of advice to give him. So he settles for the next best thing. Changing the subject.

Ford clears his throat, coughing into his hand. “So, um, listen Morty, I’ll be graduating here pretty soon. And I’ve been thinking about moving to Oregon to do some research. There’s a town located there that I’ve been researching. It’s surrounded by unexplainable things. Supernatural things.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I could use some help if you wanted to come? I mean, you told me once before that you were sort of an assistant to your traveling companion, yes?”

Morty’s eyes flicker back to Ford’s. They looked red. Sunken in around the socket. 

“You—you want me to be your assistant?”

“Sure! I could use some help setting up! An extra pair of hands is always welcome! I was even thinking of getting Fiddleford to come down and help! I haven’t asked him yet but,” Ford shrugs, “I think he’d be up for it.”

The offer hangs in the air, trapped between them, before sinking slowly in. Morty blinks.

“Just to let you know,” Ford says more softly, “You have options.”

To be honest, a life with Stanford and Fiddleford didn’t sound so bad. He liked them. They were nice. When Morty had joined them in the lab that first day, they’d joked together and included him in passionate discussions about space. Morty wasn’t a very talkative person and it wasn’t like he really had any friends to converse with at school. But Morty felt comfortable around the two college students. The final frontier was something he always loved discussing, and Ford and Fiddleford appeared to love discussing it too. All the possibilities, all the planets, all the different realities. He had shared that love of discovery with his grandfather. It never really left. Even now, he yearned to go. He yearned for the gasp of breath, the adrenaline pumping his heart, staggering odds stacked against him. Just him and Rick.

Morty turns to look back up at the stars. Was Rick on one of them right now? Had he left Earth behind without a backwards glance? Was he up there having adventures without him? 

“Thanks, Ford.” Morty says. And he means it. “I’ll think about it.”

Something green flashes in the corner of his eye. His heart collides with his lungs and Morty whips his head to the side, chasing the color. But there’s nothing there. A trick of the light. With a struggled noise nestled deep in his throat, Morty squashes back down the dark hope that had all too briefly reared its head. He feels sick again. Nausea prickles at the corners of his brain.

Turning away from the stars, Morty heads back inside and closes the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been getting pretty busy for me lately since I'll be graduating soon, so I'm not sure when I'll have time to work on the last chapter. But hopefully it'll be up within a month or so.
> 
> There's gonna be a time skip in chapter 3 so brace yourselves!


	3. the end

Three Years Later

-

The air conditioning is on full blast but Rick is still sweating like a Poutix during mating season. He takes another swig of beer and pulls his sunglasses down over his eyes. God, he forgot how fucking hot it was on Earth. Stan is faring no better in the driver’s seat. His white tank top looks drenched and the yellow bandana tied around his forehead doesn’t too much to soak up the sweat. 

Rick shoves a hand behind him to find the cooler in the back seat. He rummages around the melted ice and comes up empty.

“Do we have any more beer?”

“That was the last of it.” Stan huffs out.

“Shit.” Rick settles back in his seat. “Gonna have to make a pit stop and stock up on some more.”

“Hmm.”

The song on the radio ends and another one begins in its place, filling the silence between them. Neither of them speak. It’s too hot to talk. Rick wishes for the cold of space. For the quick trip of crystal dust and alien booze to put his mind at ease. He’s no idea how he survived for so long on this rock now that he’s back. 

“What the fuck are we doing here again?” He gripes. He can feel his skin sticking to the sweat of his Flesh Curtains t-shirt. Ugh. 

He shoves a hand into his pocket where he digs out a hair tie. The strands feel wet against his fingers as he pulls his hair back into loose pony tail.

Stan grips the steering wheel. “I’ve told you, Rick, I’m going to—“

“Right, right, you’re finally freeing yourself from your brother’s shadow blah, blah, blah. Because you’ve moved on but you need closure and you want him to know you’re doing okay despite him being such a dick and ruining your life. Yeah. I get it. I still don’t see why a phone call would suffice just as well.”

Stanley frowns. And Rick can’t help but think he looks just like his brother in this moment. Granted, they may have been twins with identical faces, but they couldn’t be more different in every other way. It was actually quite easy to tell them apart. But Stan frowned exactly the way Ford did, with a stubborn jaw and narrowed eyes.

The thought brings back pleasant memories. It had always been so much fun making old Fordsy angry. 

“That’s not what I—“

Rick rolls his eyes and cuts him off. “Whatever, I don’t care. Just wake me when we get there.”

He lays his head against the headrest and shuts his eyes, trying to block out the rays of heat blaring down on him. When Rick had first left this dump of a planet he honestly thought he’d never go back. But Stanley was sentimental. As much as he loved selling Flesh Curtains merchandise at ridiculously high prices (as well as maintaining a small drug operation on the side) he missed home. He missed his family. Rick laughed out loud the first time Stanley confessed to wanting to see his brother again. They never talked about family least of all to each other. Rick already knew what a dick Stanford was, and Stanley didn’t need to know about Morty.

Ah, Morty. Buried in the deepest corners of twisted mind, Rick tried time and again to unsuccessfully purge the kid from his memories. He was probably off gallivanting across the stars with that older than dirt version of himself. Rick had to hand it to the universe, banging his future grandson from an alternate dimension was the biggest ‘fuck you’ he’d ever seen. It had been a sign. And he’d taken it. He’d taken it, finished his portal gun, and gotten the fuck out of dodge. 

But not before meeting Stan Pines. 

He thinks it was probably somewhere in Alabama but he’s not entirely sure. He was extremely drunk that whole month after ditching college and most of it was a blur. (He remembers trying to fuck a knot in a tree but doesn’t quite recall all the details.) He thought he’d finally gotten lucky when he spotted an abandoned car in an alley out back behind the bar. He found the keys in the glove compartment and, to his delight, saw that it still had a half-tank of gas. 

Rick had been driving for nearly an hour before someone yawned sleepily in the backseat. They sat up and rubbed at their eyes before looking around in confusion. They turned and squinted into the rearview mirror. Rick stared back. 

_“Stanford??”_

_“Who the hell are you?!”_

Ford, or at least Rick had thought it was at the time, had lunged forward trying to take the wheel from Rick. The car spun violently before coming to a shaky stop. Luckily, neither of them had been injured.

_“Ford what the hell are you doing? Wait, are you_ living _in your car?”_

But the man stopped, freezing in place the moment he heard the name slip from Rick’s lips. 

_“You know my brother?”_

It had been the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship. Looking back on it, Rick doesn’t know how he’d ever gotten the two mixed up. Stanley was vastly different from Ford: his voice, his mannerisms, his charisma. And honestly, if Rick had anything to say about it, he was the better twin in all sense. 

Stanley had been hurt to learn that Ford had never mentioned his brother to anyone at college. That he pretty much pretended he didn’t exist. Rick remembers coughing awkwardly and offering the explanation that Ford probably never mentioned Stan because the subject never came up. Though it was a poor excuse and they both knew it. 

Three years, a rock star band, and a small drug empire later, Rick is positive they could have been soulmates in another life. Life was good. It was more than good. It was great. While Birdperson, Squanchy, and Rick were touring around the galaxy as The Flesh Curtains, Stan was backstage giving out samples of Rick’s new experimental drug. It had hit the market hard and demand was up. They were raking in the dough faster than he’d ever seen anything before. 

But now Stanley was insisting on going back to find his brother for ‘reasons.’ Squanchy and Birdperson had offered hold down the fort until they got back. Stan insisted they wouldn’t be gone for very long. Again, what was the point of even going if they weren’t staying?

Oh that’s right. Because it was important to Stanley and Stanley was important to him. Rick and Stan had torn up more than a few towns together. He was his best friend. (Though it was probably best not to mention that around Squanchy.) Sometimes it felt like they could be more. Stan had a pretty nice face. But it was kind of unnerving to think that this was the same face that belonged to Stanford. A stick in the mud without a fun bone in his entire body. It kind of put a damper on things.

Either way, they never went past friendship. And Rick was okay with that. He’d gotten close to someone before and it’d ended disastrously. He’d never let his guard down like that again. 

Sweat rolls down his forehead and Rick wipes it off with this sleeve. He tries to remember what had sparked this sudden need within Stanley to visit his brother. They had been doing fine. The business was doing fine. The band was great and they were climbing in popularity fast.

All Rick knows is that one moment he’s in bed nursing a hangover, the next Stanley is bursting into his room claiming that he had to go back to Earth. What the hell had happened that night anyway? Did Stan have a near death experience? Did he get too high? Some shit fortune teller tell him that he needed to go see his brother and make amends? In the end, it didn’t really matter to Rick. He figured it would be nice to take a small vacation with Stanley. Just the two of them. 

Rick would have just portaled them there and back no problem, but the thing was neither of them knew where Stanford was exactly. It had taken some time, and a lot of driving, but they finally caught wind of a little place called Gravity Falls somewhere in Oregon. 

“Rick.”

Rick mumbles incoherently, still too hot to talk. 

“I think we’re here.”

Rick’s eyes slide open. Sure enough, they’re driving past a sign welcoming them to Gravity Falls. The road takes them through town and Rick squints at the shops. This is where Stanford lived? A podunk town with nothing going on? As prideful as he was, Rick would have thought Ford would’ve set up shop somewhere more...livelier. Somewhere he could get recognition and fame for his work.

After briefly stopping for directions, they’re heading up a road through the woods to a small shack. They pull up to the front of the house and Rick leans forward to look out the dashboard window. 

“Jesus, you’re brother lives in the middle of fucking nowhere.”

Rick sits there for a moment, waiting for Stanley to get out. When Stan fails to make any sort of movement Rick finally spares him a glance. 

Stan’s hands grip the steering wheel tightly. Rick snorts. 

“So we came all this way for you to chicken out?”

Stan frowns, stilling looking at the house. “Shut up. I just...I just need a minute.”

Rick huffs. Even after all this time, Stan still let his brother affect him this way. But, Rick supposes, this was the entire point. That was why they were here. To put an end to things.

Tired of waiting, Rick leans over and honks the horn. Stan slaps his hand away.

“Rick!”

“What?”

“Don’t do that! Normal people walk up to the door and knock!”

“Yeah? Well your brother don’t deserve that.” He honks the horn again.

The more Rick had learned about the way Stanford had treated Stanley the more angry he’d become towards his former roommate. Ford had tossed his brother away to study at some fucking school for some useless fucking degree. Well fuck that. That guy didn’t know shit. 

“Will you _cut it out_?!”

They grabble for control over the steering wheel when a voice breaks them apart.

“Stanley?”

Stan startles. He looks out his windshield and up at the porch when his brother stares back at him. Ford looks stunned and Rick smirks. He rather likes that expression on Ford’s face.

Awkwardly, Stan stumbles up out of the car and raises a timid hand.

“H-hey, Ford.”

Rick opens up the other door and stretches his arms over his head. “Fordsy! What up, nerd?”

His eyes are steel and his lips stretch just a little too wide.

_“Rick?”_

“Small world huh? How come you never told me you had a brother?” 

He grins at the other man’s attempt to grasp words. Ford’s mouth flaps open and closed, and Rick has never seen him so speechless before. It was hilarious.

Rick takes it all back. This trip was definitely worth it.

“How—when did you—you two _know_ each other??”

Then, as if things couldn’t get any better, a fourth voice joins the mix.

“Ford?” Fiddleford appears in the doorway. “What’s happening? Who’s here?”

He stops short when he spots Rick who gives him a little wave of his fingers. He does a double take at Stan, blinking rapidly. Rick almost expects the man’s jaw to drop right then and there. Fiddleford looks back at Stanford. Then back at Stanley. Then back at Ford. And back again to Stan.

Ford presses a palm over his forehead and rubs at his temples. He can feel a headache coming on and it wasn’t even noon yet.

“Fiddleford,” He sighs as if holding in a strained sigh, “This is my brother, Stanley.”

Fiddleford blinks. “Your twin brother?”

“Yes.”

“You have a twin?”

“Yes.”

_“...and you never thought to tell me??”_

Rick holds up his arms in a T-like symbol. “Hold up! Can I just say that I think it’s adorable how you two moved in together? I always knew you two were banging in college!”

_“Shut up, Rick!”_ Ford and Stan yell simultaneously. Both men blink in surprise and turn to stare at each other. Rick shrugs.

Ford offers a tiny smile. “Pain in your ass too huh?”

Stan smiles back. “You have no idea.”

“Oh I think I do.”

The brothers share a chuckle. The first one they’ve shared in years. Ford rubs his neck, awkwardly looking at the floor. Fiddleford shoves an elbow into Ford’s side. He gestures over to Stan and raises a brow. Ford takes the hint.

“You two, uh, you wanna come in? We’ve got ice cold—“

“Beer?!” Rick perks up.

“Lemonade.” Ford finishes sternly and Rick groans.

“Sure.” Stan smiles. “We’ve...we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yeah. I guess we do.”

-

Morty had no idea how strange life could be on Earth. He’d traveled the entire universe with his grandpa for years and yet he’d no idea the sorts of magic that resided back on his home planet. Gravity Falls was nothing short of an adventure. Everyday they’d find new things and everyday Stanford would excitedly record them into his journal. He and Fiddleford were building a portal in the basement and it was coming along great. Morty mostly handed them things and made sandwiches. It was fun though. The townspeople were friendly and although Morty desperately missed the internet, he wasn’t bored. Boredom was hard to find when gnomes kept breaking into the house and stealing all the food.

Morty tried not to let his thoughts wander to Rick as work on the portal continued. Even if they got it to function, it wasn’t like Morty knew where across the dimensions Rick was. 

“Here’s your change, Morty!” 

“Thanks Mrs. Duskerton!”

“Don’t be a stranger, dearie.” The old woman smiles at him. “You boys are cooped up in the house too long! Tell Stanford to come by sometime.”

“I will.” Morty hugs the groceries to his chest. “Goodbye!”

“Bye, dearie!”

Morty walks out of the Dusk 2 Dawn and heads towards the car. It was a bit hard settling in when you technically didn’t exist. Morty had luckily had the foresight to bring all his money with him when he came to this dimension. It was enough to buy some fake credentials and a new identity. Or old identity rather. It wasn’t like he had to change his name. Just his birth date among other things.

Morty puts the bags in the back of the car and starts up the engine. He was excited to get back home. Tonight the fairy blossoms would bloom and Stanford was taking him along to help record the occasion. 

He drives through town up the familiar path into the woods. He’s so busy thinking about later that night, that he doesn’t spot it at first. He’s not looking for it. But as Morty comes closer, he can make out a strange car parked out front. He frowns. He was pretty familiar with everyone in town. But he didn’t recognize this car. Someone new?

Morty pulls up next to the other car and gets out to grab the groceries. Giving the odd car one last look, he heads inside. 

Closing the door behind him with small push of his shoulders, he stops to wipe his feet on the doormat. He can hear voices talking in the dining room. One of them is very loud and laughing joyfully. The other sounds strikingly familiar but Morty can’t quite put his finger on it. 

Shaking the feeling away, Morty turns the corner, preparing to introduce himself to whoever had entered their humble abode. But then Morty sees it. A brilliant strike of blue hair on the back of someone’s head at the table. Whatever greeting he’d meant to call out dies in breathless silence. His lungs feel like they’re being squeezed for every last drop of air and he struggles to remain standing.

Morty stares. Impossibly still.

The head turns. 

_Rick._

“Morty?” Rick looks disarmed. 

The bags fall to the ground. No one says anything. 

Stanford clears his throat. “Ah yes, didn’t I mention? Morty has been living with us. He came back after you le—“

Rick stands up from his chair and it screeches across the floor as he pushes it back. His face grows pale and his knees wobble. Ford’s words drown out behind him.

“Morty?” He says again.

His voice is so heartfelt and broken that the three men at the table grow instantly awkward. Stanley has no idea what’s going on. 

“What’s going on?” He whispers as he watches the way Rick and Morty stare at each other like they’re each seeing a ghost.

Fiddleford leans over the table and whispers back. “Morty’s an inter-dimensional traveler. He got stuck in this dimension for a week a couple years back when we were in college. He ended up staying with Ford and Rick until he could go back home. He came back looking for Rick but he was already gone by then.”

“Oh.”

No. Not oh. That’s not the look you give someone after knowing them for a week. Rick cups Morty’s cheeks like he’s a piece of literal heaven and Morty is making whining noises. 

“So are they—?”

“Yes.” Ford says.

“And does Rick—?”

“Yes.” Ford says again.

Huh. Well he’ll be damned. 

“I know.” Ford leans back in his chair. “Could hardly believe it myself. Didn’t think Rick was the falling in love type.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Fiddleford says. 

In the living room, Rick has progressed to pressing tender kisses all over Morty’s face. 

_“I thought I’d fucking lost you.”_

Morty shakes his head. _“I came back.”_ He whispers back, just as broken as Rick’s. _“Ford said you’d left. I thought I’d never see you again.”_

Ford rolls his eyes. “Just so you two know.” He says lowly to his companions. “I had to _live_ with that for an entire week.”

Stan feels a pang of sympathy for his brother. He had to admit, it was incredibly unnerving to see Rick Sanchez devolve into a trash romance male lead for a wide-eyed brunette. Though he is happy for his best friend nonetheless. 

“Oh _no_ , not human affection!” Fiddleford says in a playfully mocking tone. “It must have been torture for you Ford!” 

Stan laughs along with Fiddleford, grinning at his brother’s scowl. Fiddleford catches Stan’s eye and the conman feels a soft pitter-patter across his heart. Wide-eyed brunettes indeed.

Neither Rick nor Morty notice when the other three men to leave the room, giving them some privacy. Rick is too transfixed. He’d tried for so long and so hard to forget. He’d built up a wall around himself. A mote of alcohol surrounding it. But in the end it all came crashing down in a matter of seconds. He wonders why he’d even bothered at all. Pressure bears down on him, like a weight on his heart. 

“Why?” The strangled word is torn from his lips. Why did Morty come back? How long had he’d been kept waiting? Rick had never even intended to come back. If it hadn’t been for Stanley—god, they would have never seen each other again.

“I never...I n-never wanted to leave you.” Morty struggles desperately to untangle his emotions but they’re all bunching up at the surface and boiling over. Rick’s fingertips scorch his skin. It’s all Morty can do to talk in short, clipped sentences. “I c-came back. Had to see you again. I missed you _so much_.”

Morty’s tears are wet against Rick’s palms and he strokes the smaller boy’s cheeks. 

“But what about--?” He can’t say it. The thought of mentioning the other Rick, the other him, left a sour taste on his tongue. He didn’t like to think about their familial connection. It had sat in his stomach like a blackened burning coal for three years, and now suddenly it was a fire.

Morty shakes his head. “D-don’t care. Don’t care. I want _you_.”

Something long since broken in Rick’s chest begins to stir and it feels unreal. Morty had come back. Rick, who was an arrogant, selfish, uncontrollable mess and Morty had _chosen him_.

“I wanna stay.” Morty hiccups and Rick thinks it’s goddamn adorable. No one’s ever been as cute as Morty and it _fucking hurts._

“...wanna stay with you.” Morty opens his eyes, dark pupils blurry and red. “Please?”

Morty says it as if it is a question. As if years apart has made Rick not want him anymore. As if he doesn’t know how much Rick adores him even now. As if saying no were even an option.

“Oh, baby...” Rick says softly, growing weak in his knees. 

Rick doesn’t want Morty to be his past or his future. He wants him to be his present. Now and always.

Rick kisses Morty, slow and sweet. He tastes the salty tears and wipes them away.

“I’ll forgive you for leaving if you forgive me for keeping you waiting. Deal?”

Morty laughs even as he cries. “Deal.”

It’s all sickeningly romantic and honestly Rick wouldn’t have it any other way.

-

_Rustle, rustle._

Rick groans, furrowing his brows. He yawns, opening his eyes to locate the sound. Morty is carefully peeling back the covers to get up out of bed without disturbing its other occupant. Rick lazily reaches forward and drags Morty back by his hips. Morty squeaks.

“R-rick!” His hands go straight to the arm locked around his waist and pulls at it. “Let me up!”

Rick rolls closer and pushes his head into the pillow. He’d spent years dreaming of waking up next to Morty and now that it had finally become a reality, he was determined to make it last.

“Hmmm...” he says.

Morty huffs insistently. He hadn’t eaten dinner last night, having been too distracted, so he doesn’t want to miss breakfast. 

“Come on, Rick, I’m hungry!”

Rick grumbles, but loosens his arm nonetheless. Morty immediately flies off the bed and scoops up his clothes. Rick cracks open an eye, hoping to catch a glimpse of the hard-earned hickies he had given Morty last night. 

“I’ll be back!” Morty promises, turning from the room. 

Rick grumbles as Morty shuts the door with a click. Morty smiles as he makes his way down the hall to the stairs. He feels light. Happy. He turns the corner and finds both Stan’s at the table. He immediately strains to wipe the grin off his face, feeling a little awkward that everyone in the house knew what (and who) he’d been doing last night. But his lips refuse to go down and he ends up blushing red as he approaches the table.

Stanford looks up first. He raises his coffee cup in greeting. 

“Good morning, Morty!”

“G-good morning, Ford.” Morty settles in his designated chair across from Ford. He grabs at his shirt collar. Had he covered all the hickies? They weren’t showing right?

Stan chews on a mouthful of waffles next to him. He swallows the food down and holds up a hand.

“Don’t think I got a chance to properly introduce myself!” Stan grins at him. “Name’s Stanley! You’ve probably already guessed I’m the twin brother! 

Morty shakes his hand nervously. He’d only caught a glimpse of the man before settling his sights on Rick, then everything else had just faded away and he’d completely forgotten about it. Until now that is. 

“S-sorry.” He’s not entirely sure what he’s apologizing for.

Stan shrugs. “S’alright. I know how it is reuniting with long lost lovers and all that.”

The blush turns bright red, his hand reaching for his neck once more to make sure it looked okay. But, thankfully, Fiddleford comes into the room. He’s carrying a fresh plate of waffles. Morty’s mouth waters.

“Morty! You’re up!” 

“Morning!” 

“I made some blueberry and some chocolate chip ones.” Fiddleford puts the large plate on the table in the center. “Help yourself!”

Stan sighs. “Fiddleford, you are a gift.”

Fiddleford’s cheeks warm at the praise. “Oh, it’s nothing. I like cooking is all.”

“Ford I can’t believe you’re hogging this guy all to yourself!”

“Jeez, Stan one plate of waffles is all it takes to turn you into a slut?” A new voice joins the conversation and everyone’s heads swivel towards the sound. Rick wobbles into the room, giving Morty a quick wink. 

“The hell has you up so early?” Stan asks. Rick never got up before noon and yet here he was wide awake at 9 in the morning. 

“ _Someone_ decided they were hungry and left me in the cold, hard bed.”

“I didn’t have any dinner!” Morty protests. “How are _you_ not hungry?”

“Oh I am.” Rick says, grinning wickedly. “Hungry for your di—“

Three sets of hands slam down on the table. _“Shut up, Rick!”_

Stan, Ford, and Morty look up at each other, caught off guard by the simultaneous outburst. At that moment, they each share a deep and personal connection with one another. 

It’s Stan who breaks the silence and starts laughing. 

“You’re okay, kid!” Stan slaps Morty’s back. “You’re okay!”

In hindsight, it was funny how Rick seemed to be the one who’d consistently been the thing keeping them all together. It not out of shared aggravation that is. 

Rick grabs the chair on Morty’s other side and scoots up right next to him so that they’re sitting hip to hip. He swipes Morty’s fork and takes a bite of his blueberry waffles.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

“Oh I’m sorry, here.” Rick holds the fork out to Morty’s mouth like he’s going to hand-feed him.

Morty glares. Rick raises a brow. Morty rolls his eyes. He opens his mouth and Rick shoves the food in. 

“There, that wasn’t so hard was it?”

“Oh my god, I think I see what Ford was talking about now.” Stan interrupts.

“I _told_ you!” Ford says indignantly. 

Fiddleford quietly pulls up a seat between Ford and Stan. Warm bubbles of happiness glide over his skin. The three of them had stayed up last night out of the porch (if only to escape the sounds of wild reunion sex coming from inside). Ford and Stan had talked for hours, reminiscing about their childhood. Fiddleford had been enamored. He’s always been curious about Ford’s upbringing but had been too nervous to ever ask. Ford was a private man, he didn’t share a lot of things about himself. But Stan was an open book. He laughed easily and his grin was contagious. Fiddleford had found himself returning it more than once as the night drew on. And Stan had been so warm, like a furnace. The memory of it floats pleasantly in Fiddleford’s chest even as he tries to keep it down.

Roaring laughter interrupts Fiddleford’s thoughts and he blinks out of his trance. He tunes back into the conversation.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Rick clutches his sides, ready to fall over. “You’re telling me you two have been working on this machine since college and you _still_ don’t have it working?” He bursts out laughing. “Oh my god! This is priceless!”

Rick takes out his portal gun and shoots open a small portal from the table. He sticks a hand in and pulls out a strange looking alien fruit.

“You see this? This is a _real_ portal.”

Rick takes a bite of the fruit, as if to rub it in, and snickers at Ford. Stanford growls and crosses his arms. 

“He’s such a pompous ass.” He mutters lowly so only Fiddleford can hear. “Why does he have to rub his intellect in everyone’s face?”

Fiddleford shifts. Afraid to say what’s on his mind. But he’d spent so long bottling up his feelings, and something about last night makes him think it’s probably time to stop ignoring them. Perhaps it was time to let his thoughts come out.

“Didn’t you do the same thing to Stan?” He whispers back. He flinches at the wording and immediately tries to backpedal. “N-not on purpose I mean!”

He may not know the whole story, but Ford had never mentioned anything about his brother before yesterday. Never. Not even once. Fiddleford had seen Ford interact around people he considered less intelligent than him. And to say it politely, he mostly ignored them. He didn’t do it to be mean, not like Rick did. But it was hurtful nonetheless. And to know that his twin brother of all people had received that kind of treatment struck a chord within Fiddleford. He knew what it was like to be ignored. All throughout high school no one wanted to talk to him. He was the loser. The weird nerd with the glasses. He can’t imagine what it must feel like for that sort of treatment to come from your own brother.

The worst part is that while Fiddleford would like to say that he’s shocked, he’s not. Not really. Ford was fun, and smart, and a good friend. But he was a bad brother. 

Stanford looks shocked. His face twists into something reminiscent of painful and Fiddleford regrets saying anything at all. It was clear to him that Ford had never meant to hurt his brother. Fiddleford feels apologetic and aggravated all at once, because dammit he had been Ford’s friend for years! He deserved to know what exactly had happened between them that made them part ways! But at the same time, Fiddleford feels awful for trying to meddle in something he obviously had no say in. 

“Sorry, I—forget it.” He twists his hands in his lap, hating that he was such a coward. “Sorry.”

Stanford frowns. “Fidds I—“

They’re interrupted by a loud belch. Ford looks over at Stanley, disgusted. 

“Aey-oh!” Rick laughs, high-fiving Stan across the table. “Nice one!”

“Ugh.” Morty sinks in his seat. Ashamed of his choices in boyfriend material. Then thinks of Rick being his _actual boyfriend_ , and sinks even lower.

Rick steals another mouthful from Morty’s plate and looks around as if thinking of something. 

“So what do you do around here for fun, Fordsy?”

-

What had initially intended to be a short two day trip ended up being two long weeks. Rick and Morty spend endless days in bed, eager to catch up on three year’s worth of lonely nights. The others try to pointedly ignore the constant sounds of pleasure from the upstairs bedroom by busying themselves with other things. 

Stan decides to take this time to catch up with his brother. Find out what he’d been up to. Ford obliges him and shows him his journals and all the research he’s been doing in Gravity Falls.

“There ain’t no way.” Stan crosses his arms. “I’ll believe manotaurs and eyeball bats, but leprecorns? You’re pulling my leg, Ford.”

So then of course that lead to Ford leading his brother out into the forest to look for a leprecorn because he did _not_ make it up thank you very much. Stan had never seen something so ridiculous in his life. And he’d been to _space_.

Things weren’t always so smooth those first few days. Fiddleford was a surprisingly good buffer. Whenever a shouting match seemed imminent, Fiddleford would fearlessly place himself between the two brothers. Stanley admired his tenacity. He was brilliant, like his brother, but with a far kinder, more gentle touch. 

Between Stanford’s straightforwardness and Stanley’s rough approach, Fiddleford was the one to coax out the more timid magical creatures of the forest whenever they went adventuring. Just the three of them; a mystery trio. And if Stan felt slightly guilty for leaving Rick behind, he’d remind himself that his best friend was too busy getting some ass to be bothered with shape-shifting rocks. Although, he’d probably be interested in the rare jewel-encrusted rabbit they were chasing today.

Always looking for the next score, Stan had that in common with Rick. The only problem was that the rabbit was incredibly fast and both Ford and Stan were out of breath before they’d even started. Ford was stilling trying to figure out how to lure it in. It seemed a lot smarter than the average bunny. 

In the end, it was Fiddleford who’d caught it. Much to the other two men’s disbelief. The smaller man had held the soft animal in his hands, cooing down at the thing with a gentle smile. Stanley felt his windpipe squeeze and coughed roughly into his fist. Ford gave him a look of concern and Stanley waved him off. He was fine. 

The third day of the second week finds Stanley lounging on the couch flipping through the TV channels. Man, Morty wasn’t kidding. This had literally every channel you could think of!

The front door slams shut and Stanley looks up from the table, catching Rick heading out behind Morty.

“Hey, where are you two going?” 

“Morty wants marshmallows.” Rick grins, as if that was supposed to be something lewd.

Stan tires not to think of how marshmallows could possibly be defiled and settles for rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Have a good time.” 

He doesn’t want to admit it. But he’s the tiniest bit jealous. For three years he and Rick had been thicker than blood. They did everything together. Now, suddenly, they didn’t. He felt a little left out. 

A few minutes later, Stan has run out of coffee and gets up refill it. Fiddleford appears in the kitchen behind him Stan smiles at him over his cup. Despite spending less time with Rick, it felt nice spending more time with Stanford and Fiddleford. Really nice actually. It wasn’t like the thrill of pulling off a space heist or fighting his way out of a gang war on planet Ty’Lur, but the peace and comfort of Gravity Falls feels surprisingly good. He’d dreamed about reconnecting with his brother for so long and now he finally has. This was a good home. A good life. One could really settle down here.

The thought stirs within Stan and his smile drops. Settling down. Yeah, that’s something he’d never thought he’d be thinking about.

Seeing as Stanley had taken the last of the coffee Fiddleford goes to start a new pot. Stan shifts.

“Sorry, eh, didn’t realize you were wanting some.” He scratches his neck.

Fiddleford waves him off. “It’s fine. I was wanting a fresh pot anyway.”

Between them, the machine starts up. The hum filters the silence of the room. Fiddleford drums his fingers on the counter, waiting for it to finish. 

“How’s the portal coming along?”

Fiddleford looks up. “Hm? Oh, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

They fall back into silence. Stan sips his cup of coffee. This was happening more and more often. These uncomfortable silences where neither of them really knew what to say. Stan wonders what he did wrong to make the other man so nervous around him.

He tips his cup to take another sip and comes up dry. Huh. Already gone.

As Fiddleford goes to get a mug of his own from the cupboard, Stan makes his way towards the sink to put his empty cup in. Fiddleford turns around, cup in hand, and almost bumps into Stan’s chest, not realizing the other man had moved. He gasps, startled by the sudden close proximity. The cup slips from his fingers and falls to the floor. It shatters on impact.

Fiddleford flushes. “Oh my! I’m sorry!” 

He quickly bends down to pick the broken pieces up. Stan crouches down with him to help. 

“The hell are you sorry for? I’m the one that startled ya.”

Fiddleford’s hands are shaking. He’s gripping the pieces too tightly in hand. 

“Hey, careful there! You’re gonna cut your—“

“Yeowch!”

Fiddleford drops the pieces to the floor, cradling his injured hand. 

“Here, let me see.” 

Stan reaches out, palm up, as he gently takes Fiddleford’s hand. He’s had more than enough experience with cuts and bruises. He strokes the smaller man’s hand gently as he examines the cut on his thumb. It didn’t seem so bad. 

“Well, the good news is there doesn’t appear to be any glass in the—“

He makes the mistake of looking up and suddenly he can’t move. The blush is back, dusting Fiddleford’s cheeks like a red flame. Fiddleford’s eyes are very, very brown. And Stan finds himself staring. He had never really considered himself to be straight. But the only experimenting he’d ever done was off planet with alienoids. 

No matter how many times he tries to look away he just can’t. Fiddleford was infuriatingly captivating. Stanley loved his adorable southern drawl. He admired his quick mind. He loved the way he was so kind and level-headed. 

And he was his brother’s _boyfriend_. Fuck.

But Stan must have said something out loud because suddenly Fiddleford is frantically waving his hands in front of face.

“N-no!” Fiddleford stutters at him. “I-I’m not! I mean...” He blushes uncomfortably and Stan is absolutely fixated. “He doesn’t...he doesn’t see me like that.”

There’s a sadness there behind his eyes that Stan doesn’t like. How could his brother be so blind? Fiddleford was obviously in love with Ford. But then again his brother was always a blockhead.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.” Stan says quietly. 

Fiddleford blinks. Red flushes through the rest of his face and Stan feels his hands coming up to cradle the other man’s cheeks. He wants to see if Fiddleford was as hot as he was right then. If he felt it too...

“Hey, Fiddleford, I’m gonna need to recalibrate some figures.” Stanford wanders into the kitchen, effectively ruining the atmosphere.

Fiddleford rips out of Stanley’s hands, all nerves and twitching limbs. 

“I g-gotta—I gotta go to the, um, the thing.” He rushes out the kitchen past Stanford. “Excuse me!”

Stanford looks back at a frozen Stan. Bewildered. 

“Why is there glass all over the floor?”

-

The house has become too crowded. The point of moving out here was to get away from people so he could focus on his work. Much to Stanford’s dismay, Stanley has been successfully distracting Fiddleford from work. A feat which Ford had previously thought impossible. The man cared about the work as much as he did. Or so he thought.

Many a night Fiddleford would shyly suggest to Ford that they take a break and play cards with everyone else upstairs.

Ford is currently at the table pouring over his journal. He hasn’t seen Fiddleford all day and wonders where he’s off to. Rick comes into the kitchen with a loud burp. His leather pants are loosely held above his waist and, surprise surprise, no shirt. His chest is covered with hickies and hand shaped bruises. Stanford is reminded how little he appreciated Rick’s lack of shame back in college. Rick fishes a beer out the fridge and cracks it open. Ford frowns at him from under his eyelashes as Rick leans against the fridge and chugs the drink. He looks like a satisfied cat, fat from the hunt. 

Honestly, didn’t the man have a shred of decency in him? Rick catches his look and winks at him across the way. Ford rolls his eyes.

“You know you _really_ need to get laid.” Rick gives another burp. “Help that stick right out your ass.”

Ford decides answering him isn’t worth it and settles on ignoring him. Except that Rick is suddenly sliding back a chair and taking a seat at the table. Great.

Rick leans back, scratching his stomach. Putting his feet up on the table. Ford wrinkles his nose.

“Funny, I thought that you and Fiddlesticks would’ve tied the knot already.”

Ford sighs. “I’ve told you a thousand times we’re not like that.”

Rick squints at him for a long moment. Ford doesn’t move.

“Huh.” Rick says. “You’re serious aren’t you?”

“Of course I am! I’ve never lied about it!”

Rick takes another swig of beer. “Kinda always thought you were just ashamed of being gay or some shit.”

Ford really wants this conversation to end. Why was Rick even talking to him?

“Well I’m not ashamed of it.” Ford winces and immediately tries to backtrack. “I-I mean I’m not gay that is.” Shit. Fuck. “I mean...I don’t know.”

He dares a glance over at Rick and is surprised to find the man speechless for once. Rick looks stunned.

_“Ooooh?”_ Rick is leaning forward in his seat and ford leans back.

“W-why don’t you just go bother Morty?” Ford snaps, angry that he’d stuttered and shown his hand.

Rick grins. “Kid’s tuckered out. He needs a rest.” Rick doesn’t even try to hide his lude activities behind his smirk and goes so far as to cup himself and gives Ford a wink. Ford tchs and grits his teeth.

“I’ve never seen you let loose, Fordsy.” Rick starts easily. Tongue sliding over his lips. “You ever fucked anyone before?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“You ever experimented with the opposite sex?”

“I mean it, Rick.”

“What do you think about when you masturbate? Boys? Girls? Tentacles?”

_“Shut up!”_ Ford slams his palms down on the table. Goddammit, he knows, he _knows_ Rick was just messing with him like always. He hates that I’m-smarter-than-you look that Rick constantly wears around him. 

“Touch a nerve there did I?” Rick looks amused. “It’s find man. You don’t know what your sexuality is yet. Lots of people don’t know. All you need to do is—“

“It’s not that simple Rick!” Ford explodes with pent up frustration. He’s sick and tired of Rick acting so high and mighty. “Not everyone is you! Not everyone likes to go out and fuck everything they see!”

“I don’t fuck _everything_ I see.” Rick rolls his eyes. Now who was being dramatic? “It has to at least know how to speak. How else is it gonna scream my name?”

Ford points an accusing finger at him. “ _You_ are the _worst_ person _ever_! ”

Rick narrows his eyes. “No, I’m just the only person you’ve ever met who’s smarter than you and you hate it.”

The world pulses and Ford feels his universe shift. He didn’t...he didn’t hate Rick because he was smarter. Rick was just an asshole. 

But then why did the words feel so real?

“That’s...” he swallows but finds his throat has closed up. “That’s not true.”

If that were true then that would mean Stanford was petty and insecure. He’s not either of those things. He’s confident in who he is. He’s strong.

Rick snorts. “Yes it is and you know it. You can’t stand not being the smartest person in the room because it’s the only thing you have going for you. If you’re not smart, you have nothing. When you thought Stanley had sabotaged your science project,” Ford’s eyes widen at the mention. Stan had told Rick about that? “, you fell to pieces because you couldn’t handle the thought of being forced to go to an average college to live an average life with an average intelligence.”

Ford’s body feels numb. He wants to look away but Rick’s gaze is searing and endless. He wants to get up and leave. But his body won’t move from the chair. It’s sunken into the wood and he’s trapped.

Rick removes his feet from the table and leans forward on his elbows. “You wanna know what I think?”

Ford tells his head to move but the message gets lost in the synapses of his brain.

“I think you hole yourself up in your shitty little lab day in and day out, not because you love science, but because you’re afraid of trying to make an actual human connection and getting rejected.”

Silence engulfs the room. Rick scoots the chair back and gets up. “See you around Fordsy.”

He’s walking out of the doorway when Ford’s voice stops him.

“You know nothing about me.” He says quietly.

Rick turns back around. “Oh yeah? Enlighten me then.”

Ford holds his head up and glares straight at Rick’s. 

“You honestly believe that I let my father throw my brother out because of a _science project_?” Rick didn’t know anything. Always thinking the world revolved around him. Well it didn’t. Rick talked big but in the end it was just talk. 

Rick raises an unimpressed brow. “Oh really? Tell me then. Why did you exile you brother and stop all contact with him?”

Ford falters. He didn’t—he had no choice at the time. 

“Why did you try to forget about him?” Rick presses.

Ford never forgot. How could he? Stanley had been with him through thick and thin. Always by his side.

“Why didn’t you ever talk about him to anyone like you were ashamed?”

Ford’s words fall short. His previous self-righteous energy wavering. Rick didn’t know. Not the real reason. But he can’t tell him _that_. He can’t tell anyone ever. It was off-limits. It’s been buried for so long, so deep in his mind that he’d thought he finally managed to move on. But then Stanley showed up on his doorstep and rattled his entire world once more. It was unfair. 

Rick smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

He turns to go but Ford growls after him. He wasn’t done dammit!

“You don’t even have a family so don’t even think you understand my relationship with my brother!”

Rick freezes in place. His back stiff. It didn’t take a genius to work out that Rick didn’t get along with his family. Ford had once witnessed him get completely trashed on Mother’s Day. He remembers having mentioned his father once or twice in passing as well, and Rick had become eerily quiet both times.

“You don’t get to judge me when you don’t know what it’s like. So _fuck_ you.” Ford snarls. “You don’t know shit.”

The curse words sting on his tongue from unuse and he can hear his mother screeching at him in the back of his mind. Ford and always thought that cursing provided people with a limited vocabulary. Growing up, Stan had the one who always swore. Not him. But Ford can feel it boiling over now. Feel it itching beneath his skin. 

“The only real relationship you’ve had in your life is with Morty! And lord knows why he even puts up with you! You’re selfish and crass! So yes, maybe I’ve made some mistakes, but at least I own up to them! You just run away from your problems!”

There’s a fire in his belly that’s burning through the lining of his stomach and reaching for his lungs. He’s not sure if he likes this feeling. 

“Unlike you my work, my life, has value! I have goals and priorities that matter more than finding the next idiot to get off with!” Ford’s teeth hurt from grinding against one another. He wants to stop. But he can’t. “So don’t you ever assume you know me or what I do! Stanley understands my work is important to me! He knows it has to come first! Something you would never be able to comprehend while you’re out drowning yourself with drugs and booze and wasting away your talent!”

And for once, Rick has nothing to say. Ford’s eyes stare at him in angry accusation, his chest heaving. He feels lighter and heavier all and once and it makes his head spin.

“Bullshit.”

Ford sucks in a breath. “What?”

“I don’t give two shits what you think about me. But you seriously expect me to believe your precious work is more important to you than your brother? Jesus, how the hell do they put up with you?”

Ford growls. “Now listen here--!”

“No, _you_ listen.” Even in his current bed-rattled state, Rick looks intimidating. His form crackles with energy and Ford almost takes a step back.

“Science is a mistress. She’s complex and mysterious, and she’ll run you ragged. She is the ultimate woman. But she’s also unattainable. If you put her above the other people in your life, you will lose them.” Rick’s voice is low and threatening. “Fiddleford may have stuck it out this far, but he’s not going to put up with you for long if you continue to put him last. And Stan may have forgiven you for the past, but you’re not going to get a third chance with him. You screw up again and he’ll be done with you for good.”

Rick turns to go, stops, and turns around again. “I know firsthand what it’s like to have no one but science. To be surrounded by nothing but your inventions and projects. And it fucking sucks. So don’t go telling me what does and doesn’t matter.”

Rick storms out of the room. Finally done with the conversation. Ford stares after him for a very long time after that.

-

It was easier to shout at Stanley than the alternative. Easier to fight and bicker, then give in. There are good days of course. Many good days, where they sit and relax. And others still where they explore the forest together just like when they were kids. 

Ford catches the glances Stan keeps throwing Fiddleford and hates how it makes his chest darken. Just ignore it. Like always. Just ignore it.

He looks down at his journal and startles at the outline of what appeared to be his brother. He’d drawn him unconsciously. Ford frowns. He’d pushed Stanley away, thinking it was for the best. But it just made them both miserable in the end and perhaps Rick had a point. He doesn’t want to wake up surrounded by cold, unfeeling machinery. He wants to wake up next to his—

He shakes his head. And scribbles in his notebook.

-

“Rick would you just _go_ already?” Stan sighs from behind his cards. “It’s been your turn for 5 minutes.”

Truthfully Stan was just excited that the card color had finally switched to yellow. He had a shitton of yellow cards and he wanted to win this bitch.

Game Night was held every Tuesday (though they’d been playing a lot more since the arrival of Rick and Stan). When Morty had moved from his original dimension, he’d brought along a lot of things from the future to keep with him. Uno had been one of those things. At the beginning of the night Rick had suggested they play Twister but everyone else had quickly shot down that idea much to Rick’s annoyance. 

Morty had explained the rules to both newcomers as they gathered around the table. Much to everyone’s complete unsurprise, Ford and Rick had gotten terrifyingly competitive incredibly fast. With every color change Ford made, Rick would counteract it with a wild card. And then, when Ford had demanded that they switch the rotation so that he could lay down cards after Rick (hoping to give him a taste of his medicine by stopping with some wild cards of his own), Rick starting pulling out a ridiculous amount of +2’s and +4’s. Morty was almost positive he was about to witness a murder right then and there.

“Sheesh, fine.” Rick takes a card and puts it down. “Uno.”

“GODDAMMIT!” Stanford’s hands slam down onto the table. He looks like a mad man. “We’re playing something else!”

He storms out of the room to pick another game from the storage closet in the hall. Morty sighs and begins to pick up the Uno cards scattered over the table. 

“Is it really necessary to provoke him like that?” 

Rick snorts, leaning back in his chair and resting his feet atop the table. “What? That guy’s asking for it.”

Morty squints at him. “I know you’re cheating, Rick. You always cheat at card games.”

Rick folds his arms behind his head. “You think this is cheating? You’ve never seen me play Thox Poker.” He throws a grin over at Stanley. “Remember, Stan?”

Stan shakes his head in memory, grinning fondly back. “You’re crazier than me Rick Sanchez. Even I know better than to swindle a Thox.”

Actually, Morty has witnessed Rick play many versions of poker many different times. Not this Rick, his other Rick. But Morty can still picture it all the same. 

“Just you wait, Morty. Gonna teach you all the tricks of the trade.” He tips his chair lazily back. “We’ll show him how it’s done, right Stan?”

Stan’s smile falters. “Uh, s-sure.”

Fiddleford pauses in his task of helping Morty clean up the cards. 

“So, um, when were you all planning on leaving, anyway?” He tries to sound casual, but it comes out so forced that even Morty senses something is wrong. 

Rick looks at Stan, Stan looks at Rick, Rick looks at Morty, and Morty shrugs.

“I guess it is about time we head back now that you mention it.” Rick says, hands leaving his head. “Gotta get back to the band. Birdperson and Squanchy need their lead guitarist after all!”

“I don’t really have much to pack.” Morty looks Rick’s way. “I could be ready whenever you guys are.”

All eyes turn to Stan. He tenses. 

“You know me.” He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “Always ready to rock ‘n roll! Hell, we could even leave tomorrow! Ha ha ha!”

The awkward laugh echoes against the walls and dies out. Rick shares a glance with Morty.

“You wanna leave tomorrow afternoon then?” Rick asks.

“Sure!” Stan says, a weird smile stretching across his face. “Why not?”

Fiddleford lowers his head and steps back from the table. His chair scraps across the floor.

“Excuse me.”

The three men are left alone in the room. 

No one looks at each other.

“Alright I hope you guys are ready!” Stanford walks back into the room holding a box overhead. “We’re all gonna play—“

Stanley gets up. “I’m tired. Gonna turn in.”

Rick follows right behind him. “I need to take a shit.”

Stanford watches them go. He looks back at Morty who awkwardly gets up as well.

“I...need to start packing?”

Ford blinks as he’s the suddenly last person left in the room. 

Well that could have gone better.

The rest of the night is spent with awkward tension. Fiddleford holes himself up somewhere, Stan mopes over a can of beer, and Ford, after learning that they were taking leave tomorrow, had deflated like tire that had struck a nail. 

So of course everyone ignores it.

The next morning finds Stan brushing his teeth in a lazy motion. He wasn’t much better at mornings than Rick was. His brother had always been the one up and awake, excited for a new day of adventures. Stan slows his movements and the toothbrush stills. Yeah. Same old Ford. Still having adventures and tinkering with his little inventions. Except he was having them with Fiddleford now. Stanley would have half a mind to be just a little put out that his brother had tried to replace him if he wasn’t so smitten by the other man. Fiddleford was...he was something else.

“So you’re really not staying?” 

Stan jolts out of his thoughts. Rick leans against the doorway eyeing him up.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Stan grins at him half-heartedly. Sure, he’d mentioned in passing to his best friend that it would be nice to stay here and reconnect with his brother more and—uh, his brother’s engineer assistant—but he’s not sure if he actually meant it. He liked touring the galaxy with Rick, Birdperson, and Squanchy. They were a team.

Rick rolls his eyes. “Okay, let’s cut the bullshit. I’m really not into doing the whole heart-felt best friend speech and one Pines brother is already enough.” 

“Wait, what? Did you say something to Ford—?” Stan starts to ask but Rick holds up a hand.

“I sure as shit ain’t gonna tell you what you should do with your life. But let me just say this one thing.” Rick steps up closer, bringing himself into Stan’s personal space and narrows his eyes at him. “If you want something, go for it. Not trying won’t get you anywhere. You either try or you don’t. I would know.”

Rick turns away, letting the words stew in his friend’s mind. Rick had lost three years with Morty because he didn’t try to convince him to stay. He just let him go without a fight. But he was done running. He’d never leave him again.

“Either way I don’t wanna hear you bitching about it later so figure it the fuck out.” 

Stan bristles. “Bitching about what?”

“You know what.” Rick throws the words over his shoulder back at the other man. “I’ve seen you making all kinds of disgusting gooey eyes at Fiddlesticks.”

Honestly what was with these two brothers? Did Rick seriously have to do everything for them? Ugh. He needed off this planet. He can’t believe he let himself give two pep talks in one week. The thought of it is making him groan. He’s never doing it again.

He leaves without another word and heads off to find Morty. The kid had been excited all morning and was eagerly packing everything into the car. He ached to go to space again. And Rick yearned to show him. Morty may have already seen the multiverse before, but he’d never seen Rick at a Flesh Curtains concert and Rick was going to give him a front row seat.

They didn’t really talk about Morty’s other life. His other Rick. They may have accepted the truth in their own ways about the kind of relationship they had with each other, but it was time to put the past behind them. Besides, who knows what this timeline would bring? There was no guarantee that Rick would even have a daughter, or that she would ever have a son. 

Rick takes the stairs down one at a time and contemplates giving one last attempt to try and convince Morty to have sex on Stanford’s work desk in the basement. He’s been unsuccessful so for but he’s feeling lucky today.

Two hours and a guilt-ridden quickie later, Morty slams the trunk shut and claps his hands. That ought to do it.

Stanley slams the front door open, looking wildly around. Morty looks up from the car and waves at him.

“Hey! We’re all set! You want to—“

“Morty! Have you seen Fiddleford anywhere?!”

Morty blinks at the apparent desperation in the man’s voice. He raises a hesitant finger eastward.

“Yeah, he went that way like five minutes ago.”

Fiddleford had come out to bid him goodbye and had given him an extra warm hug which Morty returned whole-heartedly. He’d then trekked off into the woods, which granted was a bit odd since Fiddleford generally only went out to the forest when accompanied by Stanford, but Morty didn’t question it.

“Thanks!” 

Stan runs off in the direction Morty had pointed and crashes through the bushes and tree branches like there’s a fire at his heels. Morty stares as Stan disappears through the trees. He feels like he’s missed something here.

Rick comes out 10 minutes later. His hair is pulled back in a ponytail to beat the heat and Morty feels the blush rise in his cheeks. He wasn’t used to seeing Rick’s hair so vibrant and thick. 

“Oi, you seen where Stan went? He’s not in the house.”

Morty feels a sigh coming along. Seems like everyone was looking for someone today.

“He went after Fiddleford.” Morty points off to the woods. “He seemed really upset about something.”

“Oh really?” Instead of looking worried for his friend, a grin stretches across Rick’s lips as he turns his head towards the forest. “Huh, guess he took my advice after all.”

He plucks a pair a shades from his pocket and slides them on. “Alright, let’s hit the road!”

Rick walks towards the driver’s side of the car and reaches for the door but Morty holds up a hand in protest. 

“Wait, aren’t we gonna wait for Stan to get back?” He asks in confusion.

“Nah,” Rick ducks into the car and slams the door shut. “He’s were he wants to be.”

Morty frowns. He doesn’t get it.

“Are you sure...?”

“Yes, Morty, I’m sure jeezus just hurry up and get in before—“

“Morty!” Ford calls from inside the house.

“Aw shit.” Rick lets his head fall against the steering wheel with a soft thunk.

Stanford struts out over the porch, waving to Morty. He walks up to Morty’s side and holds out his hand.

“You’ve been a fine assistant, Morty! It’s been nice knowing you! Come back anytime, you hear?”

Morty shakes his hand and smiles. “I will!”

As Stanford lets go of his palm Morty feels his smile strain and his inner dialogue bemoans the events of earlier that day. 

_(I am so sorry I had sex on your work desk please don’t ever shine a blacklight on it or I will literally die of shame.)_

Morty’s eyes flicker downwards and he hopes nothing revealing shows on his face.

Ford takes a step back as Morty climbs into the passenger seat of the car. Stanford looks over at Rick. His smile drops. 

“Rick.” He says.

“Fordsy.” Rick replies.

Rick puts the car in drive and pulls away from the house. Morty turns in his seat to wave at Ford. He’ll miss living here.

He watches his home of three years shrink away into the distance and settles back into his seat. Excitement starts to fill him. This was it. He was finally starting his new life!

The car swerves and turns down a road leading back into town.

“Uh, Rick?” Morty looks back at him. “Highway’s the other way.” 

“Yeah I know, just wanted to stock up on some things before we go. Did you know they don’t have Cheetos in space, Morty? There’s no Cheetos in space. Like not even an alien version. They’d just don’t have them.”

“Cheetos?”

Morty looks back out the window and feels a smile creeping up his face. 

“No, Rick. I didn’t know that.”

As they drive through town one last time Morty feels a pang of sadness. He really would miss this town and these people. He’d miss the wild adventures in the forest and Stanford’s excited rambling over breakfast and Fiddleford’s cooking.

Rick swings past the Dusk 2 Dawn, completely missing the parking lot, and parks at the back of the store instead.

Morty sits there for a moment. Taking it in.

“Rick, this isn’t the parking lot.”

It seemed that over the years, Morty’s habit of saying really obvious things whenever he was confused had not faded away in the slightest.

“Shh, I know that Morty. It’s fine.”

Rick leans over to pop open the glove compartment. And to Morty’s complete exasperation, two black ski masks fall out.

“RICK!”

“Keep it down, Morty! Sheesh! It’s like you’ve never robbed a store before.”

_“Why are we robbing the store in the first place??”_ He flails his arms. “Don’t you have a billion dollars from drug money now or something?”

“In _schmeckles_ , Morty! In schmeckles! I’m broke in Earth terms! I highly doubt some small town store in Oregon accepts schmeckles as a currency.”

“What the hell, Rick? I’m not gonna be a part of this! I know these people! They’re good people! I’m not stealing from them!”

“Okay, fine you don’t have to go!” Rick shoves his mask over his head and rolls his eyes. “God, Morty, I forgot how much of a pussy you were!”

Rick opens the door and runs out before Morty can catch him.

“Rick! Wait, no! Riiiick!”

Morty digs his palms into his eyes and growls. Yep, this situation seemed about right. He angrily snatches up the other mask and stomps out of the car to follow Rick. Because that’s the way it was. And that’s the way it always would be. Morty and Rick. Rick and Morty. Forever and ever and a hundred years.

-

Coincidentally, the store did in fact accept schmeckles as a currency. Rick was almost arrested but since Morty was such good friends with the shop owners he was able to talk them out of pressing charges. 

It may have also helped that Rick had bribed Mr. Duskerton with a free sample of space cocaine. So in the end the lesson was always have space cocaine handy. 

(“That is NOT the lesson to be learned here, Rick!”)

But then again the real lesson was probably something about Morty always getting dragged off into doing things he didn’t want to do and he should maybe talk to Rick about that but now he’s confused about what he’s supposed to take away from this and lessons are stupid anyway.

(“Damn straight.” Rick laughs and Morty punches his arm.)

Morty’s suddenly not sure if he can take a hundred years of this—he growls in frustration—well _this._

But then Rick turns to him and flashes a grin full of teeth and laughter, and Morty feels the backdrop fade away.

Yeah. A hundred years of this was definitely something he could look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot fucking believe how big this thing got. I ended up with like 20 different endings for this garbage. So I hope this one is satisfying enough for you!


End file.
